


plant new seeds

by glitterhaz (glitterjemstone)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gardens & Gardening, M/M, Minor Angst, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), Pining, alcohol use, and harry is in a fraternity, louis gardens, not excessive but just to keep in mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterjemstone/pseuds/glitterhaz
Summary: Harry nods, not trusting his words. Slowly, he crawls under the covers of his bed, all too aware that Louis is doing the same, so close to him. Initially, he faces his desk, not looking at Louis, but after a few minutes he gets uncomfortable and turns over. Now, he’s only a foot from Louis’ face, and Louis has turned around too.He doesn’t think Louis is asleep already, and it's confirmed when Louis’ eyes blink open sleepily. Harry looks at Louis, and Louis looks at him. Really looks.“Can you see me?” Louis whispers.Harry doesn’t understand the question, not really, but nods anyway. “Yeah, I see you,”**Louis works at a lonely community garden, Harry is the upstanding fraternity man who makes it all feels a little less lonely. Over the course of a semester, that is.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 163





	plant new seeds

**Author's Note:**

> if you have decided to read this, thank you so much. this fic has been my baby, my prized possession, and i'm really excited to be sharing it. BIG shout out to brooklynn, who has been my rock since i started this. i wrote it over the course of five weeks in summer 2020, and then took this long to actually publish it, and she somehow doesn't hate me for it.
> 
> if anyone who goes to my university ever read this, it would embarrassingly obvious it was me who wrote it. but for now i'll say that a lot of the setting, from the community garden to the fraternity to the partying, is heavily based on my own experience, so i hope i portrayed it well :D
> 
> please enjoy! all typos are my own so let me know if you see any!

Louis probably has the loneliest job on all of campus. Well, working in the library archives might be lonely, now that he thinks about it, but at least they have coworkers. And a supervisor who is occasionally present. Though, Louis counts himself lucky on that one. There’s nothing he’s worse at than impressing bosses. It’s really best that he spends his working hours alone in the university’s community garden, pulling weeds and hauling junk around, without the watchful eye of his faculty supervisor. 

But it is _lonely_. Hours each weekend, and a meager few spread throughout the school week, he listens to his music and develops back problems. All the bending down he does at his job is _definitely_ going to cost him medical bills one day. He tries not to think about it too much.

It’s not bad work though. He doesn’t mind being alone, even though part of his job is supposed to be getting more people to volunteer at the community garden. He sends out the emails every week, tells people on campus about it, but no dice. No one is really interested in gardening on their days off from classes, and interest only goes down as the weather gets colder. He’s lucky to get a few volunteers in August, but by December he couldn’t pay someone enough to suffer through rain and numb fingers just to plant some winter crops. 

His job doesn’t mean that Louis is a lonely person, though. He gets plenty of socialization outside of work. He’s friendly with his classmates and fellow English majors, has some wild nights and less-wild mornings with his best friends, and goes to a decent amount of parties. The party thing kind of kills him, though, since he tries to start work at ten in the morning both Saturday and Sunday. He’s suffered more than a few hangovers while working. And as much as it hurts, he refuses to leave parties early. Louis Tomlinson is a lot of things, but he’s not someone who leaves a party right when it finally gets good. The best parties are at his friend Niall’s fraternity, Delta Omicron. They have a reputation for being a good group of guys, a bit upstanding, and very involved on campus. He’s never gotten the appeal of a frat outside of the great parties, though. He leaves that business to Niall and, in part, his friend Zayn, who he’s _pretty_ sure isn’t a member of Delta Omicron, but is there most hours of the day, and has most of the brothers confused about his membership as well. 

Dating is the one area where his regular socializing fails him. Despite meeting lots of people, dancing and getting drunk with them, Louis has a hard time finding anyone who sticks. Or, well, maybe it’s Louis who doesn’t stick. More often than he cares to admit, he’s hooked up with a guy only to lose his number the next day. Or gone on a few dates with a guy only for it to fizzle once Louis realizes there’s nothing between them. 

It's not like Louis is desperate or anything, but he kind of wishes something would stick. It’s not his _fault_ the guys he meets aren’t his soulmate. He doesn’t actually think he’s the _love ‘em and leave ‘em_ type, because well, that would require _love_ first, but moreover Louis doesn’t _want_ to leave. In the back of his mind, the corner of his heart, he’d like to find someone he wants to stick with. 

**

Harry Styles likes to think he’s pretty well-known around campus. It’s not a big university, a small couple thousand students, but very few who become noticeable presences everywhere they go. Harry thinks he’s one of those students. He is a double major in Mathematics and Music (and with there only being so many people who subject themselves to a major in Mathematics, people tend to remember him for this reason). As for the music bit, he might slip under the radar there except that he and Liam Payne, best of men, like to perform a little at open mic or karaoke nights around campus, whenever the student government attempts to get students to _show up_ to things. And, not to toot his own horn, but Harry Styles and Liam Payne are a pretty good duo, as far as their university goes. People show up for them! At least, they show up to see Liam sing like an angel and watch Harry flail around a small stage.

It doesn’t stop there. He works at the cafe on campus, making _just_ above minimum wage since it isn’t technically a work-study job, and knows all the students who frequent the place daily. More often than not, he can get an order started for someone before they even finish speaking. 

He’s also part of the campus’s smallest fraternity, Delta Omicron. Being small, however, doesn’t stop them from throwing massive parties at their modestly sized house, nor does it stop the brothers from competing to get the most service hours done, even more hours than the larger fraternities. Community service isn’t a competition, per se, but they have to prove their worth to the other frats _somehow_ , don’t they? That’s why Harry is Community Service Coordinator this semester. He thinks he can lead his brothers to victory in this not-competition. 

So, yeah, Harry doesn’t think it's arrogant to say he’s well-known around campus. It’s really just honest. The downside of this is that often people know him, but he doesn’t know them. By this, he means girls. Many members of the female population on their campus seem to like the whole _performer_ thing he has going on. While Liam has a girlfriend, Harry seems to be free range for a number of girls, and after talking with them at a few open mic nights, often these girls ask him out. This is where he cringes, because he has never learned how to just say _I’m gay_ , and or how to express that he doesn’t actually know these girls, and rejections get pretty ugly. He only hopes he hasn’t made a few enemies out of the girls. 

He can’t exactly be _faulted_ for not being attracted to women, right? Even if he doesn’t go around blurting it to everyone he meets, he would hope word gets around when underclassmen girls talk about him. It’s not a secret, and any of his fraternity brothers will vouch for him. Not that being in a fraternity has necessarily helped in this case. Most of his brothers are straight, and none of them are guys Harry is attracted to. He didn’t join Delta Omicron to, like, sleep with guys, but he wouldn’t mind if the combined forces of him knowing most of the guys on campus in fraternities, as well as in general being _known_ around campus, one day helped him find the right guy. 

**

It all starts when Louis gets a text. It’s from Zayn. it reads, _Hey lou, gave your # to a brother, said he wanted to volunteer someplace. You might have company._

This isn’t actually that unusual of a sentiment. People frequently tell him how much they would just _love_ to help out at the garden, or how they garden _all_ the time back home. And so he adds them to his email list and lets people know when open hours are for volunteering, and, predictably, they never come, and maybe even avoid meeting his eyes if they pass by each other. 

It’s not happened before that Zayn texts, though. That means someone has his _number_. He’s not sure how to feel about that. The person could just never text, and then he’d never know who to direct his slight bitterness towards.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s just now entering the campus cafe for a quick drink. He doesn’t really come here often, since it’s much more cost-effective to just make tea in his apartment with Niall and Oli, but Niall had given him a gift card of all things (a regift, he suspects, because it had been given to him several months into the new year accompanied by a “Happy birthday”, despite his being born in December). And so Louis, hater of wasted money, enters the cafe and is immediately assaulted by the scent of warm coffee and pastries. Do they even sell tea? It’s too hot for tea, anyways, because the August air outside is as oppressive as ever. As he reaches the counter, he’s surprised at how few people are here.

Classes don’t start for a few more days, and most of the students he spies are people that have been here all summer, working or taking summer classes. Once the single person in front of him in line leaves to wait for their drink at a separate counter, it’s his turn and he is hopelessly ill-equipped to order. 

He eyes the cashier on duty right now. He doesn’t need to guess anything about him, because it’s Harry Styles, Delta Omicron brother and singer of karaoke. He might not be entirely familiar with him, but Louis has spent enough time at the DeOm house to know most, if not all, of the brothers. Harry is one of those guys he doesn’t see often though, preferring maybe to smoke a joint with a few friends up in his room while the party rages on below him, on the first floor. There are always people who do that. People often migrate to bedrooms upstairs to get high rather than drink themselves silly while music blares around them. 

Not Louis though. He’s the type to smoke the joint right there on the dance floor, jumping to some electronic music and trying not to let his bottle of beer slip from his grip. It’s his opinion that partying is best when you can abuse several substances at once. 

Harry is still in front of him, marker ready to note his drink order. He’s got his mess of curly hair pushed back with a headscarf, and a grey sweater under his maroon apron, an apron that proudly displays a name tag reading HARRY in clinical, boxy letters. 

“Can I get a,”—it’s hot outside— “cold….,” Louis trails off, eyeing the menu set on the wall above him. 

“Do you mean iced?” Harry interrupts his thoughts. Louis quirks his eyebrows at him. “I mean, I could give you cold coffee, or I could give you iced coffee.”

“Is there a difference?” Louis asks. 

Harry shrugs. “I put ice in an iced drink.”

Louis sighs. Coffee is so much more complicated than tea. “Fine, I’ll take that iced coffee, then.” It can’t be too shit, can it? Ice in coffee?

The rest of the transaction goes fairly easily, with Louis giving his name so Harry can scrawl it on a cup, and then taking his gift card and swiping it through the machine. As he’s handing Louis back his gift card, accompanied by a receipt, the tips of their fingers brush. Louis is surprised at the warmth, but not altogether upset about it.

As he moves on to the next counter, he hears Harry talk to his sole co-worker behind the counter. He thinks it's a girl in the English department— Bebe, maybe? He’s pretty sure they’ve had a few classes together, though she’s entering her last year at university while he’s starting his third. 

“Go ahead and take your break, I’ve got this,” Harry says quietly, and Bebe nods, a look of relief on her face, and begins to untie her apron as she slips into the back room. 

Harry then starts on Louis’ drink. Louis waits patiently, leaning against the counter with his hip, and pulls out his phone. No new messages, which means the stranger Zayn handed his number out to hasn’t texted. Oh well, no big loss for Louis if they never do. Scrolling through his notifications, he sees that Niall has tagged him in a picture on Instagram. It’s a picture of Niall, Louis, and a few other people from a party last weekend. It hadn’t been a DeOm party, just a small kickback at someone’s apartment that lasted from the late afternoon well into the evening. Music not too loud, cold beers, and a setting sun. That’s when the picture was taken, from the looks of it. The sun is low through the open window of the apartment, and Niall is wrapped around Louis and raising a toast to the camera. 

Louis is enjoying the memory so much that he’s startled when he hears Harry speaking. 

“Iced coffee for Louis,” Harry calls, even though no one else is around to collect a drink. Louis shuts his phone off and slips it into his pocket, grabbing his drink with the other hand.

“Thanks,” he mutters. Just as he’s about to turn away and exit that cafe, Harry speaks again. 

“Hey, hold up,” Harry spares a glance at the register to make sure no one else is in line. “You’re Louis, right?” When Louis nods, Harry continues. “You don’t happen to be the Louis who runs the community garden, do you?”

Surprised, Louis responds, “The one and only. Why?”

Harry looks almost sheepish as he places his hands on the counter separating them, leaning forward. “Your, um, your friend Zayn gave me your number? Said I could do volunteer hours with you?”

Oh. _Oh_ , so Harry Styles is Zayn’s mysterious friend. “Right, uh, what can I— Yeah. I run the community garden. Uh, you can just text me about it. You have my number,” Louis ends up saying, unsure why he’s been struck by nerves just now.

Harry grins widely. “Great! Yeah! I’ll text you once I’m off work. So you know it's me.”

Louis nods once, a bit sharply, and then finally leaves the cafe, not looking back. 

******

Louis very deliberately does not wait around for a text from Harry. He has no idea when Harry’s shift ends, so he does everything in his power to avoid thinking about it. He isn’t scheduled to go into the garden today, and while he sets his own schedule and could easily clock in now, he doesn’t. Instead, he walks across campus, back to his apartment.

“Niall? Oli?” he calls out as he enters, jingling his keys when he hangs them on a tack he and his roommates had put on the wall. He gets no response, signaling that he’s alone. He takes a second, as he toes off his Vans, to survey their fairly bland living area. It’s a space practically unseparated from the tiny kitchen they share, and though the three of them had moved in at the start of summer, they had never really gone all out for decoration. They’d managed to pick up a couch and few chairs from some graduating students, but all that remained aside from their bulky furniture was a few posters on the wall that Louis’ thinks are Niall’s. He suspects they’re just picturesque shots of golf courses, because he can’t imagine Niall buying the prints just because they look pretty. 

The rest of the apartment is decently in line with the living area. The kitchen is, predictably, a bit messy, but nothing too bad. In the middle of the hallway is the bathroom, and then at both ends of the hallway are two bedrooms each. On one end, Niall and Oli have their own rooms. At the other end, Louis is adjacent to an empty bedroom. Though the apartment is meant to fit four people, the school had let them move in for a lowered price, and in return the trio hadn’t moved off campus and given their money to someone else. 

He takes his phone out of his back pocket, _no texts still_ , and leaves it on the kitchen counter. Louis wanders back to his bedroom, sipping iced coffee along the way. He can’t decide if he likes it or not, but he also thinks part of the problem might be the ice melting too fast and making the coffee watery. Maybe the campus cafe should invest in better ice cubes. 

Once in his room, he resists the urge to lay down in bed. It’s barely one in the afternoon, and so even if he’d spent the morning helping a friend move in, carrying loads of boxes that were harsh on his knees, he figures it's too early for bed. So instead of giving himself a well-deserved nap, he strips out of his sweaty clothes and changes into fresh ones. Dark skinny jeans that will kill him in the August heat and a black, loose tank top that lets the summer breeze reach his skin. From the back of his closet he grabs a soccer ball, tucks it under his arm, and grabs his drink before heading back out to the kitchen.

He stashes his coffee in the fridge, figuring if he forgets about it later, maybe Niall will want it. With that taken care of, he slips his phone and keys into his pocket and gets on his trainers. He locks the door and heads off to the field behind the library, the empty one no one uses except for a few druggies. He isn’t sure _druggies_ is the best or nicest thing he could call them, but he doesn’t know much more about them other than that he can see the small flames of the lighters at night when he’s out, leaving the library or walking home from a friend’s place. 

Either way, they mostly frequent the place at night, because no one wants to be smoking weed in broad daylight when campus police are always around the corner. He doesn’t know why they can’t just go inside, but he isn’t too invested in the matter. 

Once he reaches the field, and confirms he’s the only one in sight, he gets going kicking the ball back and forth, making imaginary goals against the library’s back walls. He winces at the idea of students studying or working just behind those walls, having to listen as he makes goal after goal in the exact same spot, but he relinquishes himself of the guilt when he remembers no one is studying yet, and anyone working inside is likely by the front desks, not in the measly back corners. 

He kicks and he kicks until he gets bored of it. It’s not quite the release he was going for. He does some stretches, jumping up and down to fire up his body, and then lunging to feel the burn in the backs of his legs. The wind makes its way through the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, Louis closes his eyes and lets the sun warm his cheeks and the breeze ruffle his hair.

It’s freeing to have no eyes on him, no classes to stress about yet, no work until the weekend, two days from now. Just him and the game in his head. 

He pulls out of the lunge. 

He dribbles the ball all the way to the opposite end of the field, and by the time he gets there, he can feel the sweat starting to form at the base of his neck. He’s tried to get out most days this summer and kick the ball around, but he admits even to himself that he’s chosen sleep and hanging out with friends over exercise more than a few times. He realizes he was looking down the whole way over, and so when he goes to dribble the ball back to where he started, he makes sure to keep his head up, letting his feet do the work. 

Yet, somehow, even with his eyes looking forward, he misses the figure that meanders over to a nearby tree and leans against it, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with ease. 

“You look good out there,” Zayn calls out. Louis jumps at the interruption, and wonders how he could have missed Zayn. Too in his head, he guesses. 

Zayn looks perfect, like he always does. He’s dressed casually, but with a black bomber jacket on as well that elevates the look somehow. He has a fair number of necklaces hanging from his neck, tangled together in a bit of a grungy look, and his dark hair is smoothed over to the side like he hadn’t bothered to do anything with it, revealing the fresh undercut on the other side. 

“You gonna share?” Louis asks, and kicks the ball lazily over to where Zayn is standing, dragging the cigarette from his lips, blowing smoke upwards so as not to blow it right into Louis’ face. He then passes it over to Louis, who mimics his actions. Just once, quickly. None of the casual elegance that Zayn has, the kind that makes people think of him as an enigma. The idea makes Louis snort, because it seems like everyone forgets that he’s the first to request “Women in Pop” playlists at parties, and then performs table top renditions of his favorites. But even then, Louis supposes, maybe there’s something enigma-like about that. The juxtaposition of dancing to Katy Perry at midnight and then looking like he’s the type of person to have never heard “Teenage Dream” the next morning. 

Zayn decides to pull no punches today. “Has Harry texted you yet?” If Louis hadn’t run into Harry just before this, the question wouldn’t have made any sense. Luckily, Louis knows what he’s asking immediately. 

“Nah, but I ran into him while he was working. Mentioned that you’d given him my number,” Louis says. Zayn nods, and then hums quietly. 

“Good,” is all he says. Zayn is the type that’s happy to sit in silence with his friends anytime of the day. Louis gets it, he does, and sometimes that’s what he prefers too. But he’s a bit sweaty right now, and if his kicking the ball is going to be interrupted, he’d like a bit of conversation. 

“I didn’t know you guys were friends,” Louis says, hoping to bring a few more words out of Zayn. 

“We’re brothers,” shrugs Zayn, as if that’s all there is to it. And, well, Louis knows that for fraternity men, sometimes that really is all there is to it. Except—

“I could have sworn you weren’t actually a member of Delta Omicron, last I heard,” Louis asks.

Zayn takes another drag. “I can’t afford the Chapter dues, even with a scholarship, so they can’t initiate me, technically, but…” he trails off. 

“Brothers,” Louis nods, like it makes sense. And it does. But he doesn’t pretend to really get the whole _brotherhood_ thing. He just doesn’t understand all the loyalty to guys he might not even like. The way Zayn affirms it, like who cares if he and Harry are actually friends? _Brothers_ is more important, clearly. Louis wonders where he falls on the scale, in the eyes of other people. 

“You coming tonight?” Zayn says, effectively changing topics. He drops the butt of the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it underfoot, but then leans down to pick it up and put it in a fabric baggie he brings out of his jacket pocket. Environmentally friendly nicotine addiction for an Environmental Sciences major. 

“Coming where?” Natural question. No fraternities have started having parties yet, because most are going through safety inspections before most of the brothers move back in, so it’s a dry week for them. Well, dry inside the house, at least. No alcohol, no drugs, no parties. Until classes start next week, Louis and his friends will get their fix elsewhere. 

“Gigi’s place. She got that house on Saint Anne’s street? It’s a sweet deal, her parents pay for her part of the rent if she majors in Chem,” Zayn says. “She and her roommates are having a get-together tonight, and there are promises of free beer.”

Louis thinks it _is_ a pretty sweet deal, and he knows Zayn has only thrown in the last bit to entice him. Zayn would rather bring his own stuff or cough up the few bucks to pay for whatever else Gigi and friends are planning on providing. Obviously, the phrase _free beer_ translates into _a dollar a shot_ in the world of struggling university students. He wonders who’s rent Zayn will be paying when he gives in to those prices. 

“I’m in. Niall coming?” Louis says. 

“Think so. He’s close with Ashe, one of Gigi’s roommates. She’ll have invited him already, I’d guess,” Zayn responds with, which is good enough for Louis. If Niall has already gotten an invite, it means it isn’t on him to text him and get an answer. He likes that.

“Sounds like a night, then.”

  
  


**

Harry groans into his pillow, flapping his limbs wildly as he falls face down onto his bed. His bed is so thankfully soft, and Harry’s glad he invested in the sheets and pillows he did when he moved into the Delta Omicron House. The sheets are messy right now since he hadn’t made his bed that morning, but it doesn’t make a difference right now. He’s not sleeping. He’s complaining. 

“What?” Liam asks from the other side of his room. When he had come in, Liam had been at Harry’s desk, scribbling something or other into a notebook, textbooks propped around him. Harry chooses not to question this, even though classes didn’t start until next Monday. It's Thursday. He also doesn't question Liam’s presence in his room. Liam, after a few semesters of being bugged by Harry, had joined Delta Omicron last semester, the second semester of both their second year at university. Since he’d been initiated just a few months ago, when he decided to move into the house for the upcoming school year, he was stuck in a double room down the hall, sharing with Josh, a nice but fairly loud brother. Harry, who had joined the second semester of his first year, had a year on Liam in terms of membership, and after having shared a room last year, had finally earned his own bedroom. This was a fact Liam took advantage of, despite it meaning that Harry didn’t quite feel like he had actually gotten his own room anymore. 

Harry flops lazily onto his back so he could speak better. “Should I text him?” He realizes his feet are dangling off the bottom end of the bed, shoes still on, so he, uncoordinated, kicks off the worn brown ankle boots he’d worn to work, and then pulls his legs up so his knees are bent and the bottom of his feet rest firmly on his mattress. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Liam’s figure. Dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, though he didn’t see the jeans when he came in. He sees Liam turn in his chair, resting one arm over the back of it, and eye him, curiously. “Text who?” 

Liam probably thinks it's a guy. Well, it _is_ a guy, but Liam probably thinks it’s a _guy_ guy, like one Harry might date. Which is laughable. It would be the first guy Harry’s been interested in _like that_ , and maybe the first guy who’s been interested back, since before Harry started at the university. Louis isn’t a _guy_ guy. He’s just a guy. _Just_ a guy. 

“Not like that,” Harry says, and then tosses a pillow he’s latched onto in Liam’s general direction, hoping it’ll land right. It doesn’t, Harry can hear it hit against a lamp in the corner of his room, several feet from where Liam would be. He winces, but decides the sound wasn’t bad enough that the lamp broke, so he just keeps starting at his ceiling. It’s a nice ceiling, he supposes, if one doesn’t mind the senior members of a fraternity living above them, making a bit too much noise at any given time of day. Such is the life of second floor living. 

“Then what?” Liam asks, turning back to his work, whatever it is. 

“Should I text Louis?” Harry asks. He waits a beat, thinking Liam might answer, and then realizes that Liam probably doesn’t know who Louis is, and this still sounds like he’s talking about a guy he’s _into_. Which he isn’t. He’s just nervous to text Louis. So Harry explains. “Louis runs the community garden. He could help me get community service hours, and maybe get the rest of the brothers some hours too. If they want.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Why wouldn’t you text him?” Liam says, not looking at him. 

Harry sighs. “Well, Louis didn’t give me his number. Zayn did. So already, it’s like I never got permission _from him_ to have his number,” he says. He’s vaguely aware of how Liam is probably rolling his eyes. He can’t see it, but he feels it. “And then I ran into him at work today and talked to him a bit and told him I’d text, but he didn’t seem… interested? Like he probably doesn’t care if I text or not. Or he really specifically doesn’t want me to text.”

Liam is still silent. Harry turns his head to look at his friend, and see him bent over a book at a harsh angle. His floppy brown hair is hanging in his face. 

“Liam,” Harry says, urging an answer. 

The tension in Liam’s shoulder drops, and he closes his eyes for just a second. “I’m not going to tell you you’re overthinking it,” he starts, and Harry nods, because he already knows he’s overthinking it, and doesn’t need a reminder. “But look, it’s,” Liam glances at his phone, pressing the power button once, “almost six. Why don’t you go make us some dinner, and then you can sleep on it. Or drink on it.”

Harry agrees readily to the dinner part of Liam’s plan, already thinking of what food he has downstairs in the house’s kitchen that he can use. Maybe he’ll just make a quick stir fry. That’s a good idea. But as for the second part of Liam’s plan, “Dry house this week, Li. Where am I gonna drink on it?”

Liam looks up at him, at last. “Sophia’s place. She just moved in with some other girls, over on Saint Anne’s street. Uh—Gigi and stuff.”

Harry hums in approval. He knows what Liam is talking about. Sophia, an ex-girlfriend of Liam’s who he’s still quite friendly with, had joined a sorority last fall, the same one he’s pretty sure Gigi and Ashe are in. One of the bigger ones on campus, if he remembers correctly, so Sophia, Gigi, and Ashe don’t actually know each other very well. All three just needed roommates and an off-campus place to live. Sisterhood, he guesses, was the driving factor of that arrangement. 

“I’m down,” he says firmly, and then gets out of his bed without grace. He heads downstairs to start dinner.

**

Harry is appropriately buzzed by ten that night. While most parties on campus started at around nine, it was considered bad form and a bit embarrassing to show up any earlier than nine forty-five if you didn’t know the person. You can’t just _show up_ to someone’s house party on time unless they told you to. Which Sophia had told Liam and Harry to, so they actually had arrived at nine and started drinking the harder stuff before most people showed up and the girls started charging for it. Which means that Harry has had a few shots already by the time the party is really starting. It’s interesting to watch the trickle of people walk in at half past nine, many carting around their own water bottles of whatever they could scrounge up. Harry was that kind of person once, in his first year. He’d show up at parties with a water bottle full of tequila that his older friends had gotten for the group, and had maybe put a few cans of Mike's Hard Lemonade into the pockets of a big coat. It would have looked really bad had he ever been caught by campus police, but luckily he never had. By the end of his first year, though, he’d gotten bored of frat parties and house parties like this one, even though he’d joined the frat he most frequented. 

Starting his second year, once he had a room in the house, he became the type who had smaller parties in his shared room. Usually just him, Liam, and a few others who made their way up, poking their head in and asking if they could take a hit from the pipe he kept on his windowsill. He always left his window just a tad open, so as not to hotbox the room, but he was pretty sure the room he’d been in, one just down the hall from his room now, was still infused with the smell of weed. Maybe this year he’d try not to do that to his new room. As a kind gesture to whoever inhabited it next. 

So, anyway, by ten Harry is having a good time. He’s dressed in feel-good clothes, in tight jeans and a loose red top unbuttoned to his ribs. It’s the kind of shirt Liam would call a blouse, though he isn’t sure men’s shirts can be called blouses. His boots are back on and his hair is down, freed from the scarf he’d used to put it up with for work. It curls around his ears and neck. He’s in the kitchen, and he can’t help but admire how nice it is. It’s bigger than the one in the DeOm house, and has a smooth granite bar that is currently serving as a drink mixing station, headed by Shawn, a second year student that the girls are probably letting drink for free in exchange for him running the bar tonight, and making every sorry sucker who didn’t bring their own drink pay up just to get drunk. 

Their loss. If they really didn’t want to pay, there’s free beer in the cooler on the floor of the kitchen. He looks at it, and realizes it’s almost empty already. Most of it was probably carted off for drinking games the moment people started to really arrive. 

The room isn’t that full, just him, Shawn, and a few other people getting their drinks topped off or doing a round of shots before walking back to the living room, which is only separated from the kitchen by the bar that holds all the drinks. 

The living room, on the other hand, has quickly become packed by all the students who had stayed in town over the summer, all here for a final hooray before the rest of the students move back in this weekend. He thinks the new first years are already here, having moved in earlier this week, and spent the last few days going through orientation. None of them will be here tonight, since they don’t know anyone older than them and wouldn’t have gotten an invite. Besides them, though, it looks like everyone else on campus did get an invite. Everyone inviting their friends, and then friends-of-friends, and so on until everyone got the message. 

He leans against the counter and sips his drink, two shots of vodka mixed with some soda. A nice cool-down drink after he’d started with shots in rapid succession. Across the space, he spies Louis on a worn couch. Louis sitting at the edge of the couch, one leg out in front of him resting on a wooden coffee table and the other pulled in close to him so his knee is level with his shoulders. One elbow rests on said knee, holding his head in his hand, and the other hand holds a glass bottle of beer. Harry didn’t realize there was anything other than canned beer, but it might have been from around here somewhere. Why bring your own beer when it’s free tonight?

Louis looks good, too. He has on fitted joggers with white lines running down the sides, and a loose white shirt that is just on the wrong side of opacity. Not that Harry wants it to be more sheer. But it isn’t. It looks thin, but not too thin. The dark lighting of the room makes it hard to see Louis’ face very well, but someone has set up a light machine and a pink light illuminates his face every few seconds, and Harry gets to watch Louis smile widely and throw his head back laughing.

Sitting next to him on the couch is Zayn, dressed exactly as he had been earlier when he’d given him Louis’ number, and Niall, another DeOm brother of his. It looks like Zayn is holding a joint, lit up even though they’re inside. Niall’s laughing wildly, but the next second he gets up and says something to Zayn and Louis, motioning towards the kitchen. Before Harry can register it, Niall is bumping his shoulder with a “Hey, Styles, how’s it going?” and Harry must say something, a quick “Not bad,” before Niall is asking Shawn for a drink and wondering if he’s seen Ashe around. 

Harry takes this as a sign he should get out of the kitchen, since he doesn’t really have any reason to be here. He still has his eyes on Louis, whose eyes are gently closed while Zayn blows smoke directly into Louis’s open mouth, a little too close for comfort. Or, well maybe it’s not too close for them. Louis closes his mouth, and Harry can see the dramatic rise and fall of his chest as he takes it in. It’s a bit of a sensual sight. If he didn’t know better, he would think something was going in between Louis and Zayn. But he’s pretty sure Zayn is straight. At least, Harry thinks he remembers Zayn dating a pretty blond girl last year, Perrie, an English major that Zayn had shared a bunch of classes with somehow. They broke up over the summer, but the memory confirms for Harry that Zayn is straight. Or at least, he’s not gay.

Wait, is Louis gay? Harry doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to be rude, even in his own head, but Louis seems gay. It’s nothing obvious, and no one else probably sees it, but something about the way Louis easily interacts with Zayn, or the way he carries himself. Or maybe Harry’s gaydar is shit. Can gay people have gaydars, or is that only for straight people? Harry shakes his head, pushing the thought away. It’s a dumb, drunk thought. 

Harry doesn’t make the decisions so much as his body starts moving before he realizes it, making his way across the room to wear Louis is seated, weaving between people to get there. Once there, a foot from where Louis is sitting, Louis and Zayn look up. Zayn, upon seeing him, pushes himself off the couch and says he’s going to smoke outside. He hits Louis’ knee lightly and then makes his exit. Louis, on the other hand, stays seated where he is.

“Uh, hey,” Harry says, suddenly nervous about his decisions to come over. Louis doesn’t seem to notice, though, and instead smiles slightly. It’s the kind of smile that tells him that Louis is a little buzzed, and has maybe smoked more than just the one exhale from Zayn. A bit lopsided, but still in control.

“Harry! Fancy seeing you here,” Louis says, and pats the now-empty spot next to him. He steps over the leg Louis has out and falls into the couch cushion, careful not to spill his drink. 

“Whaddya got there?” Louis asks, peering into Harry’s cup. 

Harry glances down too, like he’s forgotten what he’s drinking. “Mixed drink, vodka,” is all he says. Louis nods and hums, agreeing with his response. Or maybe approving of it. Like his drink passes some kind of test.

“Listen, uh, sorry I didn’t text you after work,” Harry starts. He thinks he sees Louis perk up just a bit, like his words have excited him. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to text? Like, Zayn was the one who gave me your number, I don’t know if you even want me to have it.” Harry is well-aware that he should stop talking. Louis didn’t need to know every bit of his overthinking. But he doesn’t stop there. “I didn’t even know the community garden _took_ volunteers. I mean, do you? I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Luckily, Louis stops him before he can continue. He raises his hand that’s holding his drink, and makes a kind of _stop_ motion with his fingers, all except his thumb and index finger, which are still clutching his bottle. He meets Harry’s eyes, which is a bit distracting for Harry, because he hadn’t noticed how clear they are. Blue, looks kind of dark in the lighting of the room, but definitely blue. He wonders, briefly, how they would look in the daylight. Maybe he’ll find out soon. 

“Harry. Harry Styles,” Louis says, looking very serious. The kind of sober serious that isn’t actually sober at all. The kind of sincerity only mustered up by substance use. “I want you to text. Yes, I take volunteers. No, people don’t usually volunteer. But I would be _happy_ to have you.”

Harry lets out a breath of relief he didn’t know he was holding. He takes a long drink from his cup, nearly draining it. 

“Cool, cool. I’ll text you then?” Harry starts to pull his phone out of his pocket, but it’s in there quite tightly. Louis laughs at his struggle. It’s a musical laugh. Even if Harry looks idiotic right now, he’s fine with that if Louis thinks he’s funny.

“You don’t have to text me now,” Louis says. “You’re right here. I can just tell you what you need to know. Um, I work weekends. If you’re free Sunday morning, I start at ten, go ‘till noon. Just a few hours. You can come help out.”

Harry smiles, happy that’s sorted out. “I’ll be there,” he says. 

“Still text me though, so I have your number,” Louis says casually. Harry’s stomach flip-flops. 

“I can do that. Later,” is all he says in response. He moves his gaze and looks out at the small crowd of people. The house isn’t that big, so all the summer students crowd in to dance to the music. Besides the living room, he still sees the kitchen fairly free of people. The back door is open, though, so there’s probably also a good group of people outside smoking and doing whatever else people do outdoors at parties. Harry notes that Zayn never came back, and he’s not sure if Niall ever found Ashe. 

It doesn’t matter to him, though, he’s having a perfectly good time watching people dance. Most are pretty bad at it, not that it’s important to dance well at house parties, but there are a few people who can really feel the beat of the music and move to it well. Harry’s slightly jealous. He knows he isn’t really cut out for that sort of thing. Good dancing, that is. He briefly wonders if anyone is upstairs. All that’s up there, he thinks, are the bedrooms and another bathroom, but probably no one is allowed up there. There’s a perfectly functioning bathroom on this floor and, if he lived here, he wouldn’t let anyone use the upstairs bathroom. Who knows what people will do in upstairs bathrooms?

It takes a second to snap out of his train of thought, but he does when he realizes Louis is waving a hand in front of his face, giggling a bit. His teeth are showing. Cute teeth. His eyes widen and he turns to look at Louis, confused. 

“Man, how high are you? You were _not_ here a minute ago,” Louis jokes. Louis then sips his beer, lips wrapping around the top. _What has he gotten himself into?_ , Harry thinks, but the thought is gone before he can examine it. 

“‘M not high,” he mumbles. “Just a bit drunk, I think.”

His words just make Louis grin more. “So you’re just like this, huh?” And Harry nods, even though he doesn’t know what that means exactly.

“How are are _you_?” he says, before realizing that’s wrong. “How high are _you_?” 

Messing up doesn’t help his defense, but Louis doesn’t seem to care, doesn’t seem interested in actually making fun of him. “Could be higher.”

It sparks a thought in Harry’s mind. “Have you ever tried shrooms?”

This just makes Louis laugh more. “No, no, I stick to the basics. Beer, some weed. What else do you need?” He lets the leg he had close to him out, so now both his legs are resting on the coffee table in front of them. A girl has just sat down on the table, talking up to her friends, but even with her so close to them, her words are inaudible. 

Harry continues. “My friend tried shrooms over the summer. She said it was fun, kind of scary though. Offered to try them with me at some point, but I don’t know if I should say yes.”

Louis appears to ponder the question for a moment, taking another sip before he answers. “Which friend? Do you trust them?”

“Uh, Alexa,” Harry says, but he doesn’t know if Louis and Alexa know each other. “She’s a Visual Arts major, Theatre minor. You’ve probably seen her in a play or something.” And that's true. Alexa, aside from being known as great at costume design, has also been in more than a few school productions since her first year, which was three years ago. She’s in her last year at the university. 

Louis nods. “I know of her. Seems fun. How bad could shrooms be, anyway?” It’s said with the confidence of someone who has never tried shrooms, so Harry doesn’t really trust the advice. Maybe he should do his own research. 

Harry hums anyway to acknowledge what Louis had said. He’s surprised how easily he’s been able to hear Louis speaking this whole time, and it’s startling to realize that he’s tuned out all the music and other conversations with no trouble. All at once, it hits him with a dizzying amount of sounds. The bass thumps loudly, and Harry isn’t sure that a neighbor hasn’t called the police already. He doesn’t know exactly how old Louis is, but Harry at least is still too young to be drinking, legally speaking. 

His attention turns back to Louis when he suddenly shifts his body so that he’s facing Harry more directly, turning even a bit too far and almost facing the back of the couch. 

“What?” he says, confused. He looks to see who’s around, but no one jumps out at him. He does spot Liam though, who he’d lost in the crowd a while ago. Liam is up against a wall, drink-free. He’s talking to Nick, a fourth year Communications major that Harry has never really liked. He’s in another frat on campus, one that has a reputation for being kind of sleazy. He knows it isn’t fair to generalize about the other frats, because he’d hate if someone did that to Delta Omicron, but he’s heard several stories about the guys in that frat. Enough to know he’s alright with not being buddy-buddy with them. 

“Guy I’ve hooked up with. Behind me. I don’t want to talk to him, so look like we’re busy in conversation, yeah?” Louis relays to him quickly. Harry scrunches his face up, and looks behind Louis. All he sees though is Liam, and he knows for certain Louis and Liam have never hooked up. The idea is even kind of funny. But if not Liam, then….

“Nick?” Harry asks, louder than he means too. Luckily, the music drowns it out so no one hears. Still, Louis looks sharply at him. This time he lowers his volume. “Nick? Are you talking about Nick?”

Louis rolls his eyes but gives him an affirming look, like, _Y_ _eah, I know it’s bad, you don’t need to tell me_. And so Harry refrains from telling him. Despite him wanting it to, it does occur to Harry that this is a somewhat confirmation of his earlier suspicions. Louis _is_ into men. 

“Why don’t you want him to talk to you?” Harry asks, even though he can imagine his own answers. Louis grimaces.

“I, uh, _lost_ his number?” he says, telling Harry all he needs to know. Except, well, actually there’s quite a bit else Harry _wants_ to know. How often does Louis hook up with guys? And then how often does he _lose_ their numbers?

“Oh,” is all he says. He doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t hook up with people, so he doesn’t really understand the whole culture around it. He’s also not sure he’d really want to participate, doesn’t like the idea of going around campus avoiding the eyes of former hookups out of— what? Embarrassment?

Louis looks at him strangely, like he knows exactly what’s running through his head right now. “What? You’ve never avoided an old hookup?”

Harry blushes, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks, and he hopes that, if Louis can tell in this lighting, he writes it off as Harry being drunk. Though he’s not. He still hasn’t finished his drink that he’d had when he sat down, and hasn’t had anything new, so the nice tipsy feeling he had a while ago is starting to wear off as the alcohol works its way through his system. He should get more soon. He doesn’t want to look at the time, but he estimates it’s not quite eleven yet, and Harry has no interest in being sober by the time midnight hits. 

But maybe he’s still feeling a bit of the boldness that alcohol grants him, and so, without knowing why, he confides in Louis. “I— uh, no, not really. Last time I hooked up with someone was a guy in high school, right before graduation.”

His first time. His first and only time. He’s not embarrassed about it, but he doesn’t really remember it fondly either. He was just seventeen when he graduated high school, having stated school early as a toddler. The other guy was eighteen, in a similar position he was: gay, about to go to university, no experience. It was by luck they had found each other, but other than getting his first time out of the way, it’s not an important memory. 

Louis quirks his eyebrows at him, and for a second Harry is worried he’s revealed too much, but his fears are assuaged when Louis says, “Good on you,” without anything else. 

Louis then pulls out his phone as if it’s just buzzed, and swipes open a text. He reads it quickly, and then looks up again, simultaneously removing his feet from the coffee table. Harry has a sinking feeling that whatever the text said, it signals the end of their conversation tonight. 

“That was Niall, said he’s sick somewhere around here. I’ve got to go find him,” Louis says, standing up and adjusting his clothes. He does the same knee pat that Zayn had down when he’d left, like a small goodbye gesture. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Sunday,” Harry says, nodding. Then Louis turns and leaves, looking around and trying to spot his friend. Harry watches him walk all the way to the back door, and then keeps his eyes on the door frame even after Louis is no longer visible. 

That’s that, Harry supposes. Until Sunday morning at least. 

**

Sunday morning arrives slowly for Louis. Ever since he’d left Harry sitting on that couch, resisting the urge to look back as he left the house to look for Niall, he’s been eagerly awaiting this morning. He can’t pinpoint why, other than Thursday night was a strangely good night, and he’d like to find out what Harry Styles is like sober, in the daylight. 

So, of course, being as eager as he is for Sunday morning to come, the days in between feel like years. He hardly gets anything done at work on Saturday, but he does catalogue what needs doing the next day, the stuff Harry can help with.

If he even shows up. Harry had never texted after all, and Louis is partially afraid that Harry had decided volunteering in the community garden just wasn’t for him, and had taken the easy way out. 

Either way, he still doesn’t have Harry’s number. But, if Harry doesn’t want to do this whole volunteering thing, then he supposes he has no use for it. The school year hasn’t officially started yet, so Louis hadn’t sent out an email about open volunteer hours that week, and so if Harry shows up, Louis knows it will just be the two of them. 

Once Sunday morning gets here, at long last, Louis wakes up at his normal time, about half an hour before he’s meant to be at work, but gets ready much quicker than usual. Within ten minutes he’s got the joggers he wears to work, a loose t-shirt on, and a thin jacket just in case he wants it later. Not that he will. It’s still summer, but Louis can never be too cautious. 

He winds up making the trek across campus early, getting to work ten minutes before ten. He swings his jacket onto a nail stuck in a fence post, his own makeshift coat rack. He then clocks in despite the time, and surveys the land. 

The garden is small, but not small enough that having one person for the job feels like enough. It doesn’t bother Louis though, he’s come to enjoy his mornings alone. Just him and the dirt. _What a pair_ , he thinks. _What a loser that makes me sound like._

Behind him, he hears the wooden fence that surrounds the garden shake open, the latch needing a little wiggling to make it work. He spins around and sees none other than Harry finally get it right and step inside, closing the gate behind him. 

Louis raises his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “You’re early,” he calls out. Harry stomps along the skinny dirt path to where Louis is standing. He’s dressed properly, from what Louis can see. Cut-off denim shorts that have seen better days, dirtied sneakers, and a shirt with the letters ΔΟ stitched on. An old DeOm shirt by the looks of it. His hair is pushed back, just like it had been when Louis saw Harry at his work, and some sunglasses adorn his head as well. 

“I wanted to make a good first impression, is all,” Harry explains, shrugging his shoulders. He then gives Louis a goofy smile. Too earnest. Louis refrains from mentioning that they’ve technically met twice already, so this is more like a third impression. 

“‘Course you did. I’m starting to understand your game, Styles,” Louis says, which makes Harry sputter a bit.

“What game?” he asks. 

Louis shakes his head at Harry, smiling. “Honest, upstanding fraternity man. It’s a good look to have.” 

“I’m just being myself!” Harry says. Louis shakes his head again, like he doesn’t believe him. Because he doesn’t. There’s more than meets the eye to Harry Styles than what Louis has seen, he knows it. Even past the shrooms debate. Something more. Louis wants to know it. 

He laughs anyways. “C’mon, I'll give you a tour.” He gestures to the fenced in piece of land before them. Harry turns to face the garden just as Louis had, and the sun coming from the rising sun suddenly hits his eyes. The garden is so wonderfully green and bright. When Louis looks over, Harry’s eyes are well illuminated. Light green, too. The color of the underside of a wave in the ocean. Louis is kind of taken aback by them, but he quickly turns his head back forward.

“Right, so there you can see is the pumpkin patch,” he says, motioning to the large field that takes up the front half of the space, surrounded by dirt and grass on the edges, marking the ends of the pumpkin patch. “They’ve been growing all summer, and in late October I hand them off to the locals that sell them for Halloween. The ones I don’t give go to the kids of faculty and staff who come by and pick up the rest.”

It’s a good pumpkin patch. Nice and healthy. Louis has been taking good care of them since May when they were planted. The biggest of the lot still have a ways to go before fall is in full swing, though. 

He moves on. “Over there on the far end against the fence are the sunflowers. Uh, they like the sun. That’s really all you need to know about them,” he says. He then turns towards the back half of the garden. “Back there are the beds, two rows of five, ten total. I grow vegetables and stuff. Because of health codes, I can’t sell them or donate them anywhere official, so mostly I take it home. I know a few students, too, who come by when things are ready for harvest and take them off my hands.”

Harry is nodding and humming in all the right places, hopefully taking in the information Louis is giving him. “In the way back over there are two sheds. One, the smaller shed, has all the tools. Only I have the key, so nothing gets stolen. The other mostly just collects junk and other stuff I need, and is good for keeping out of the rain when it gets nasty out here.”

Right where they’re standing is nothing, just grass and a few weeds poking out. He should pull those up, but he had to admit some weeds he grows to like. All that’s here is the large wooden box pushed up against the fence that has some freshly composted soil sitting at the bottom. He gets the soil, via his faculty supervisor, from a local composting company. 

Done with the main parts of the garden, he swivels around to face the fence they’d had their backs to. Next to him, Harry swivels as well, just a beat later than Louis. All along this fence, framing the other side of the dirt walkway, are wildflowers. Bright, thriving flowers that look to be placed at random, no neat rows or anything organized like that. Just hundreds of tall, thin flowers overflowing in the space they’ve been given. 

Louis can hear the small sigh Harry lets out when he lays eyes on them. Had he not noticed on his way in? Perhaps not. Either way, it’s endearing, Harry so content at the sight of them.

“I love flowers,” Harry says, smiling happily. He tucks a lock of curls that had come loose when he had turned around back into his headscarf, headband thing. It makes Louis happy to hear him say that. 

“These are the wildflowers. Good for native birds and insects. They don’t need much care, and sort of do whatever they want,” Louis explains, looking at Harry for a reaction.

“I love them,” he repeats. Harry then looks up at Louis, making eye contact. “Can I take a few pictures of them? I want to send some to my mom and sister.”

 _Jesus_ , okay. The content look was already endearing. Louis doesn’t need Harry to also want to send pictures of flowers to his family. That’s a bit much. He stutters out a response, and Harry gets to work. He drops into a squat, of all things, and opens up his phone camera. All the pictures are taken from different angles, all positioned just right. Louis wonders why Harry does that. When Louis takes pictures, he hardly ever angles it well, or checks the lighting. He just snaps a photo or two. Louis wonders what else is different between them. 

When Harry’s done he stands back, rolling his shoulders back. Louis carefully focuses on none of said movements. 

“Right. Do you want to come get some tools with me?” Louis asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, but hears Harry agree anyways, and they make their way to the tools shed in the back. Louis fishes the key from his pocket and opens the lock with ease, swinging the door open so Harry can see in as well. 

The walls are lined with neatly put in nails, with a variety of small tools hanging from them. A bundle of shovels stands still in one corner, a stack of buckets next to them on the ground. Louis’ prize weed wacker leans against another corner, ready for use whenever. Right in front of them on the ground, however, are three watering cans, and that’s what Louis is here for. He grabs the two cleaner ones and hands one over to Harry. Harry takes it and holds it tightly, like it’s a weapon, or he's a child and the watering can is his new favorite toy. 

Fighting laughter, Louis then unspools a hose that’s attached to the side of the shed and fills both their watering cans up, careful not to splash any water on Harry. Harry stays silent throughout the process, maybe too concentrated on gripping his watering can like there’s no tomorrow, and then holding it still enough so that water doesn’t slosh out as they walk. 

Louis leaves the door open and leads them back to the front half of the garden where the pumpkins are. He stops when they’ve reached their destination.

“First order of business, watering the pumpkins,” Louis says, and looks to Harry to make sure he’s paying attention. Harry is, so he continues. “You water the pumpkins, I’ll start with the sunflowers and then join you. Take your time. Don’t be afraid to go slow.”

Harry probably thinks he’s an idiot for telling him to _go slow_ watering _pumpkins_ , but Louis doesn’t care. It is serious business. When Harry nods, Louis feels satisfied and makes his way around the pumpkin patch and to the sunflowers.

He waters them pretty quickly since they don’t need much attention, but he makes sure to get to give each stalk a small puddle of water at its base so the ground can soak it up. As he goes along, he eyes the flowers themselves, just casually looking to see how many sunflower seeds the birds have gotten to and how long until they’re good for harvesting. 

The petals are bright yellow, looking as sunny as their namesake, and the centers are still dark, nearly black, not yet turning brown as sunflower season comes to a close. 

The center of the flowers look fine though, and Louis is pleased to see the birds haven’t taken that many seeds out yet. In a few weeks, maybe, he’ll pull them up and take some seeds for himself, saving the rest for next year. 

Within minutes, he’s done, and so he turns around to see how Harry’s fared and to start working on whatever parts of the patch he hasn't gotten to. 

When he sees Harry, what’s wrong is immediately clear. Harry looks a bit lost, like he stumbled into watering pumpkins with no reason. He’s kind of just shaking his watering can about, letting water fly everywhere. Consequently, this means the water is landing on the pumpkins themselves, as well as their spacious green leaves. 

“Stop—,” Louis calls out. Harry’s head jerks up, and he freezes with his hand outstretched in front of him. “Stop, um stop watering for a second there.”

Harry complies, bringing the can close to his chest and ceasing his watering. Instead of going around the patch, Louis goes through it, careful to only step on dirt and not any roots or vines. Harry is barely inside the patch on the other side, having only ventured maybe a foot or two in during the time Louis was watering the sunflowers. 

When Louis reaches Harry, he squats as best he can and indicates for Harry to do the same. He puts his watering can on the ground beside him. Harry follows suit, and Louis gets to work correcting Harry’s mishap. 

He leads Harry’s eyes to the roots of the pumpkins, where he points to the gnarly tangle of vines that start right where the seeds were planted last spring. “You want to water them there, got it?” 

Harry nods, and so Louis keeps talking. “If you watered everything like you were doing, the water gets on the pumpkins, which isn’t a big deal, but it also gets on the leaves.” He holds one of said leaves in his hand, rubbing his fingers over the texture. “See, they’re best like this, pure green. When you water the plants so that water gets _on_ the leaves, they develop this, uh, like, mildew. It’s a thin film, basically, that prevents the leaves from getting sun, and it can damage the whole plant.”

Louis stands back up, and Harry follows. “How do you know all this?” Harry asks, looking at him with a bit of astonishment. It’s a good feeling for Louis, who doesn’t often realize how much he knows about taking care of this garden until moments like this. 

He shrugs. “I’ve just picked it up over the seasons,” he says. “Now, try again.”

Harry pours a generous amount of water right at the root, and together they watch the ground soak it up. Louis looks up when he feels Harry look up, and suddenly the green eyes he’d been looking at earlier are a foot from his own. 

“You’re seriously smart,” Harry says, and Louis’ stomach flutters. “Are you, like, a Biology major? Is that why you do this?”

Louis laughs. He’s the furthest from a Bio major that a person can get. “English major,” Louis says, quirking his eyebrows like it’s a joke. 

Harry’s eyes widen, almost comically so. “How did you end up working here, then? Feels like the sort of job you need qualifications for.” 

“Are you saying I’m not qualified for my job, Styles?” Louis challenges, putting his hands on his hips. Harry starts to sputter a response, probably afraid he’s ruined his good first impression, but Louis stops him before he can even really start. “Calm down, I’m joking. I, uh— I got this job because the old manager graduated and I was the unlucky freshman desperate for work, I suppose.”

Maybe there’s more to the story than that, because he’d accepted the job offer before even looking at other jobs on campus, just took the first one he found. But over the last two years he’s spent doing this job, he’s come to love it. He’s never thought of himself as a gardener, never did it growing up, nor does he consider himself to have a green thumb, but he _is_ pretty good at this, isn't he?

“That’s really cool,” Harry says sincerely. 

“Cool enough to come back?” Louis asks, even though he feels like he shouldn't. He doesn’t want to pressure Harry into coming back next week or something, and Harry hasn’t even done enough work yet to know if he likes it. It was a silly thing to say, and he regrets it the moment he finishes speaking. 

Harry’s eyes light up, though. “Yes! I would love to. Are you sure, though? I don't want to mess up anything else.”

It’s cute how nervous Harry looks. Louis nods. “Gotta learn somehow. Hey, you never texted me.”

Harry winces. “Sorry about that. I, uh, didn’t want to bother you.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

How could Harry think he was bothering Louis? It occurs to Louis that he’s only known Harry for a few days, so it might actually be a perfectly normal idea, but Louis can’t imagine Harry bothering him. 

“Text me right now,” Louis says, instead of anything he was thinking.

“What?”

“Text me now, so I have your number. And so I know you know how to text,” Louis repeats. Harry fumbles, setting his watering can down, and gets his phone from his back pocket. He swipes it open, typing his password quickly, and then takes a minute or so to look up.

“Done,” Harry smiles. Louis feels a buzz from his own pocket, and trusts that it’s Harry. 

“Thank you,” Louis says. “Watering time?”

Harry nods, and together the water the rest of the pumpkins in relative silence. Even with Harry having started before Louis joined him, the task takes a fair bit longer than it would have had Louis been doing it by himself, with practiced ease. But because Harry was now taking extreme precautions, and going as slow as possible to make sure he’s watering every single root just the right amount, Louis takes pity on him and slows his own pace so Harry doesn’t feel bad. It’s a bit painful, but it gives him a moment of pause to take in the short morning he’d shared with Harry already.

If Louis hadn’t been a bit endeared with Harry already, after the party on Thursday night, he certainly was now. It wasn’t a crush or anything, but he feels almost guilty about having overlooked the kid all this time. They’d shared mutual friends, maybe even run into each other at parties, and Louis only knew him the way everyone knew him: by the personality he displayed to the masses, not the personality he shared with his friends. 

It made Louis want to know that other side of him. He’s sure it’s there. 

Louis finishes up watering his half of the patch, and ambles over to where Harry is finishing up as well. Louis waters the last root, right as Harry is about to tip over his watering can and shake the last of the water out. 

“Hey!” Harry says indignantly. “That was mine!”

“Sorry, Styles, should have been faster,” Louis says. He smiles at Harry to let him know he’s just teasing him. He’s slowly learning that Harry will take things seriously even if it’s clearly a joke. 

“Are you calling me a grandma?” Harry asks. Louis shrugs like, _if the shoe fits_. He empties his watering can into the soil, and moves to leave the pumpkin patch, Harry close behind. Harry keeps speaking. “I’ll have you know I’m younger than you, so maybe _you’re_ the grandma!”

Louis laughs, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, _kiddo_. Now, are you ready for your next task?”

When Harry agrees, Louis puts the watering cans back in the shed and returns with two tools. 

“Ooh, scary,” Harry says, eyeing the tools curiously. 

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Do you know what this is?” 

“No, but I bet you’ll tell me.”

“It’s a weeder,” Louis says. 

Harry cocks his head to the side, clearly confused. “Why not just use shovels to pull up weeds?”

Louis sighs. “This is more effective. See, look,” he points to the end of the tool, where it looks like it might end similar to a skinny shovel, but at the very end it splits like a forked tongue. “With the two prongs on the end, you can dig down and get on both sides of a weed, and then pull right up the whole root comes out if you do it right. Or if the weed isn’t too finicky.”

Harry nods, and so Louis passes the second weeder over to him and they go back to the front. Once at the dirt walkway, they get started pulling up the weeds that have infested it. Louis admits that he’s pretty much ignored them all summer, and it has to be done at some point. Might as well be now. 

They make good progress for a few minutes. The soil here isn’t very dry and it’s loose too, so most of the weeds come pretty easy. It takes Harry a few tries to get the method down, but once he does he’s fine. 

“Wait,” Louis says, looking up to wear Harry is crouched near him, concentrating on pulling weeds like _he’s_ the one being paid for it. At his words, Harry looks up as well. “How did you know I’m older than you?”

Harry looks at him weirdly. “I’m younger than almost everyone in our year,” he says, yanking up weeds as he goes. “I started school early when I was a kid, so in our first year I was seventeen.”

Louis hums in acknowledgement. “That’s cool. Makes you, like, boy genius.” He gets dirt under his fingernail and takes a moment to get it out. 

Harry laughs, this kind of outburst of sound. Louis doesn’t think what he said was actually that funny. 

“Wait, how did you know I was younger than you? Besides me telling you. I could have been lying,” Harry says. 

“Our age difference is bigger than you think, Styles,” Louis says. Harry does a little twirl of his hand like, _go on_. “I took a gap year before my first year to work and stuff. Save money, help out my family.”

He looks excited by the information. “You’re….twenty-one? _Wow_ , for a Mathematics major I should have been able to do that quicker.”

Louis smiles and nods. Mathematics major. A new thing he’s learned about Harry Styles. Interesting. “And you’re nineteen?”

Harry confirms with a firm nod of his head. “So you can, like, legally drink and stuff. I bet that’s nice at parties. You never have to worry about the cops busting _you_.” 

“Not as nice as you think. I can still get busted for serving to anyone underage,” Louis points out. “And I’m not sure cops would take kindly to other substance use, if you know what I mean.” Louis winks and laughs.

Harry looks solemn. A bit too solemn to take seriously. “Ah, yes. All the shrooms you’ve done.”

Both of them burst out laughing. Louis has to work to his balance in his squat-like position. “You’re not funny,” Louis says, just to tease him a bit.

“You laughed!” Harry says. He pulls up another weed and adds it to the growing pile next to him. “Where do I put all of these, by the way?” he says, gesturing to his pile.

“Hold on,” Louis says, standing up. He wipes his hands on his pants and then goes to the tool shed and grabs a bucket, bringing it back over. “Put them in here. At some point next week I’ll take them to a composting station.”

Louis lifts up his own pile of weeds and dumps it into the bucket before Harry does as well. 

The next hour passes easily, with them pulling up weed after weed and throwing them in the bucket. They talk about everything and nothing in particular; classes they’re taking, stories from parties, music they’re listening to. Louis doesn’t realize the time until he feels harsh sun on the back of his neck and he looks up, noticing how high in the sky the sun is. It must be getting close to noon.

“Styles,” he says. “I think your first day in the garden is about done.”

It makes Harry look up too, and he has to squint when he looks at the sun. Louis resists the urge to tease him more, because he’s had sunglasses on his head this entire time. He probably forgot they were there. Funny. Cute.

“Aw. That’s kind of sad. I was having a good time,” Harry complains.

They both stand up, stretching their legs. Harry lifts his arms above his head, revealing the smallest sliver of skin at his hip. Louis looks away.

“Are you sure _you_ shouldn’t be the one with this job?” Louis asks. He carries the bucket to the back and sets it down where he’ll see it later this week. Harry had grabbed both their weeders and was now hanging them up gently on the nails they’d been taken from.

“I’m just as unqualified as you are,” Harry says. Louis glares at him a little bit.

“Get out of here. Your time is up,” Louis says, crossing his arms across his chest.

Harry’s arms hang loose at his sides. “Are you sure? I can help more if you need it.”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m sure. I have a few minutes before I should clock out, so I'm just going to water the vegetables before I lock the shed up.”

Harry shrugs. “Okay well, I’ll see you soon? We’re having a party soon, I think, at the house. You should come.”

Louis smiles. “I’ll be there. Niall or Zayn or someone will tell me when.”

With that, Harry turns around and leaves, Louis watching him go. When he’s gone, Louis sighs and gets out the watering can again. He should have finished watering earlier, when the sun wasn’t as high up yet. But he’d enjoyed the menial task of weeding with Harry, the small opportunity to talk to him some more. 

**

The start of classes is rough for Louis. It’s the start of his third year of school, so he’s doubled down on classes for his major, and several of his professors have already mentioned his thesis. Not in a serious way, but more than one professor has gone over skills they’ll learn in class or projects they’ll do and finished with a “This is an important skill to build for when you start your thesis,” and frankly, Louis is already over it. 

It’s Wednesday, three days into the new term, and he’s considering dropping out already. He hasn’t had loads of homework yet, so he’s gone into work a couple times since Sunday, enough that he won’t have to put in more hours until this next Sunday.

Around four o’clock, he gets back to his apartment and unceremoniously drops his backpack on the floor right inside the door, where they all put their shoes. His back is kind of killing him, but he thinks it’s probably just the stress of being thrust back into classes after a summer of working and partying on an endless cycle. 

Niall is in the kitchen when he gets in, and to his left Oli is in the living area, books propped around him but eyes on his phone screen. Neither say anything to him right away.

“Thanks, guys, for the warm welcome home,” Louis says, guilting them into a greeting. 

Oli says, “Welcome home,” in a monotone voice. 

Niall, on the other hand, tries harder to look excited. “Hey Lou. I’m just thinking about dinner. What sounds good?”

Louis thinks. “I didn’t know you had dinner duty tonight,” he says.

“Ol said he’d do my laundry if I did dinner,” Niall explains. It makes sense to Louis, at least for Niall. They shared a small laundry room with everyone in their building, and even though the squat, two-story building wasn’t that big, each apartment was supposed to hold four people. And, given that they were on the second floor, they had to lug their laundry up and down the stairs. It made laundry a pain to do. 

“Sucks for Oli. What do you have over there?” Louis walks up to the counter in his socks, barely making a sound. He leans his elbows on the counter to look at Niall’s ingredients. A bag of tortillas. Some bell peppers.

“I was thinking fajitas,” Niall says. 

Louis nods. “Warm. I definitely want something warm.”

Niall looks up at him, sizing him up. Louis feels oddly like he’s under interrogation all of a sudden. He wants to interrupt whatever Niall’s thinking, but figures that Niall will be Niall regardless. Still, it’s weird.

For a guy who’s always pretty upbeat and happy, Louis sometimes gets the sense Niall does it all partly because no one else does. People, like Louis, are more caught up in the negative and get tired of the day-to-day. He thinks Niall is more perceptive than anyone might give him credit for, and it scares Louis. What is he seeing? How much is Louis showing him to begin with?

When he decides he’s done, Niall nods once. “Come here, dude.”

Looking very serious, he opens his arms out to indicate Louis should go hug Niall. He does, without question, going around the counter and standing in Niall’s arms. Niall closes them and holds him tightly for a few minutes. Once Louis knows what's going on, he lets his bones relax, surprised at how much tension he lets go of once he tries. He didn’t even know how tensely he was holding himself all day. 

Resting his head on Niall’s shoulder, he feels grateful to have a friend like him. “Thanks, man,” he mutters, low enough that only Niall hears. He’s not sure Oli has been privy to any part of this interaction. 

Niall lets go of him, and Louis steps back.

“So, fajitas?”

**

His second weekend with Harry comes quicker than Louis had anticipated. The first week of classes finishes, and Louis spends his Saturday in front of his laptop, already starting an endless series of papers for a class. He stares until his eyes hurt, which is when he makes dinner and passes out in his room.

So, Sunday morning. Here once again. 

Louis takes his time this week, not rushing to get there early. Consequently, he arrives just as he’s meant to clock in, so when he looks up from his phone, Harry is already there.

He hasn’t seen Harry all week. It’s just the way of a small campus: when you don’t want to see someone, they’re everywhere you turn. And if you, by chance, _do_ want to run into someone, it never happens. 

Harry looks good, though. Almost the same outfit as last week, but swapped for a different DeOm shirt, still reading ΔΟ in bright red letters. He forgets what the colors of DeOm are, but he’s pretty sure one of them isn’t red. 

When Harry looks up, he grins big enough to show his teeth, and waves happily at Louis. 

“Louis!” he says. 

“Harry!” Louis says, with none of Harry’s enthusiasm. Harry seems to accept that Louis is teasing him, though, and doesn’t respond. When Louis reaches where he’s standing, they look out at the garden together.

“What’s on the agenda this week?” Harry asks. 

Louis leads them to the back where the vegetable boxes are. “See these?” He points to the short, leafy weeds that cover a lot of ground. “This is thistle. We’re going to pull it up.”

Harry nods and squats down, already looking like he’s going to start without tools. 

“Wait—,” Louis says. “You need a tool. Also gloves. This shit hurts if you touch it.”

Harry stands back up and waits there while Louis goes and unlocks the tool shed, grabbing a weeder for each of them as well as a bucket. Then he goes over to the other shed and grabs a pair of gloves for Harry. When he comes back, he passes the gloves to Harry and they start.

“Why don’t you have gloves on?” Harry asks as they go along. He’d quickly realized the danger of thistle. Even with gloves, the occasional leave sticks to him and the prickly ends get through the fabric, hitting his skin.

Louis does it differently. He’s careful not to ever touch the thistle with his hands while he pulls it up, and uses his thumb and index finger to lift the very ends of the root and dump it in the bucket. 

He shrugs. “I never do. Something about the feel of things is nice.” And it's true. Gloves are just a barrier between him and whatever he’s working on. He much prefers to touch any weeds, dirt, or vegetables with his bare hands, even if it hurts sometimes. 

They work in silence for a while, until they get tired of it.

“Did you hear about Ben?” Harry asks. 

Louis shakes his head. “Ben, the Business major?”

Harry nods. “He never showed up for the new year.”

“What?”

“Like, I guess he dropped out or transferred or something, but he didn’t tell anyone. He was supposed to live with someone in an apartment and he just never moved in, either,” Harry explains. 

“Dick move,” Louis says, shrugging. “Let’s hope he stays wherever he is now.”

Both Louis and Harry can agree on that. Ben had a reputation around campus for being a bit of a control freak, except that he also had a lot of control to begin with. Last year, he’d been the head of student government, and, if rumors could be believed, had been a pain to work with. Always wanted his way, and barely gave thought to the budget. The school was probably better off without him. 

“How’re classes going?” Louis asks. 

“Not bad,” Harry says. “My music theory classes are hard, though. I think I’m better at just doing music than studying it.”

Louis can relate. Sometimes he doesn’t know why he’s an English major, except that he’s pretty good at bullshitting essay after essay, and he thinks he might want to teach one day. 

“I get that. Sometimes I just want school to be over already so I can just do what I want,” Louis responds. “But that would mean, you know, having to actually find a job and shit.”

Harry hums in agreement. “I’ll probably do something with math. Music is just like a hobby. I don’t even know where I’d start with it.”

Louis readjusts his stance so he’s more comfortable. “You could do something about it, though. I’ve seen you perform.”

“Have you?” Harry says, glancing up. 

He nods. “You’re really good, you know.”

Harry shrugs, like it doesn’t matter to him. “Half the time I’m playing guitar and Liam is singing. I don’t know how I’d do it alone.”

Louis doesn’t quite know what to say to that. “I’m just telling you. You are good.”

“Do you do any music?” Harry asks.

Louis starts to laugh. “I did a bit in high school. Was actually in a musical, _Grease,_ but decided it wasn’t quite a lifelong dream.” 

“And English is?”

He shrugs. “I’m good at it, at least, and maybe I’ll be a teacher one day, you know? I like kids well enough, and I could coach, too.”

Glancing up, Harry looks surprised at that. “You play any sports?”

Nodding, he says, “Soccer, mostly. Pretty good at it, too, but I don’t play for the school.” He winces as he pricks himself on thistle. “What about you? You don’t seem like the athletic type.”

“Hey! You watch it, I’m actually very sporty,” Harry declares. “Just… not team sports. I’m good alone. Like, running and stuff.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m terrified. Watching my back now, in case you decide to chase me or something.”

Harry doesn’t respond, and they keep working in silence. It’s nice, though. The talking, the joking. It’s like with every topic he peels away bits of who Harry is, and, maybe in return, Harry is doing the same to Louis. 

**

Harry stares at his phone screen, text pending. 

The last few weeks have passed in a dizzy of nothingness for him. That is, except for his Sundays. It’s been more than a month of volunteering in the garden, but more importantly it’s been over a month of being in the garden with Louis. Harry has enjoyed the menial and back-aching work he and Louis have done more than he thought he would. 

Something about their meaningless conversations makes it all worth it.

“What are you staring at?” Niall’s voice says. Harry’s head jerks up. Niall’s standing in his open door frame. 

“Nothing,” Harry says. “Can you close the door when you come in?”

Niall does just that, moving to lay on his back across Harry’s neatly made bed sheets. He spreads his arms wide, taking up as much room as he can. The snapback he’s wearing falls off his head.

Harry is at his desk, and about twenty minutes ago he’d diligently been doing homework, until he remembered the party DeOm was having tonight. Did Louis know? Niall would probably tell him things like that, or Zayn, but what if they hadn’t?

From then on, his plans to get some work done that Friday afternoon had gone down the drain. A drafted text sits on his screen, waiting to be sent. 

_Hey Louis, we’re having a party tonight. Wanna come?_

Harry groans. He and Louis haven’t even really texted since they’d gotten each other’s number. Were they friends enough to text? For Harry to invite him to the party?

And since when did Harry invite people to his fraternity’s parties? When it came to his friends outside of DeOm, they either showed up or they didn’t, and if they did, they knew where to find him. He was always holed up in his bedroom, hardly ever downstairs on the first floor. 

Louis was definitely the first floor type. He’d seen him at the Saint Anne’s party in August, but even Harry had been downstairs for that party, given that it wasn’t his house.

He was overthinking this, he knew. 

“Dude, what is on your mind. You look like you’re in pain,” Niall suddenly says. To be honest, Harry had forgotten he’d come in. 

“Have you already told Louis about the party tonight?” Harry asks. So what if Niall thinks he's embarrassing? He can live with that. 

Niall laughs. “That’s what you’re in pain about?” Harry shrinks back into his chair. “Yeah, he knows. He’s coming.”

The tension leaves Harry’s body. “Oh. Cool.”

“You should text him anyways,” Niall adds. 

“Why?”

“I think he’d like a text from you. You guys are friends right?” Niall says.

He doesn’t want to think about the implications of that. Does Louis talk about him to Niall? Does he consider them friends? What does he say? He’s officially too in his head about this. 

Harry deletes the current text he has written out and writes a new one. 

_Niall said youre coming tonight. See you later._

He hits send before he can second guess it. Whatever Louis makes of it is out of his control. Sighing, he closes his phone and sets it down on his desk. 

“What are you doing here, Ni?” he asks.

“Dinner. Louis’ out with Zayn right now for food and Oli has practice. I don’t like to eat alone,” Niall says. 

Makes sense. “We can make ramen together,” Harry suggests. 

They do, and it’s delicious, and the whole time Harry thinks about seeing Louis tonight.

**

It’s loud. That’s the first thing Harry registers. Why do they always play the music so loud when barely anyone is here yet? 

Harry ventures down from his room to see what’s going on. A few people Harry recognizes are milling about, and most of the brothers are lounging on couches, with a few others unfolding a table for drinking games. He hopes it isn’t for beer pong. Harry finds beer pong obnoxious, and boring. If he has to play a drinking game, King’s Cup is best, he thinks. 

He spots Zayn first. He’s uncapping a bottle of vodka and pouring into a big jug. Next to him, Josh is pouring in what looks like fruit punch in equal amounts. Harry winces. He hopes Josh keeps pouring even once Zayn empties his own bottle. 

It takes him a second more to spot Louis. He’s leaning against the back counter of the kitchen, and looks dazzling without trying. His hair doesn’t look like it’s styled any differently, swooped nicely to one side like usual. He’s wearing tight black jeans that draw attention to his legs, and a dark red sweater that hangs loose on his frame. 

His legs are crossed as he holds a bottle of beer carefully in his hands. He’s also looking away, so he doesn’t see Harry until he’s close, walking right up beside him and opening the fridge. 

Louis jumps, but relaxes when he realizes it’s just Harry. 

“Hey,” Louis says, smiling gently. “You here to mingle with all us early-crowders?”

Harry scrunches his face. “Just getting a drink,” he says, raising a near empty bottle of rum. “Why are you here early?”

He doesn't mention that the only reason he came downstairs to begin with was to see if Louis was here early. He doesn’t really care if he drinks tonight or not, Alexa’s bringing some edibles later in addition to his own stash in his room. 

Shrugging, Louis says, “Followed Zayn here after we ate. I even carried beer in from someone’s car.”

“You do more for this fraternity than me,” Harry jokes. Louis laughs. 

“Are you staying down here by chance?” Louis says, making Harry’s heart skip a beat. He looks around for a minute, considering. He really doesn’t want to hang around downstairs, if he’s being honest, but he doesn’t want to pass up the opportunity to talk to Louis more. 

“I don’t think so,” he starts, and Louis’ face falls the slightest bit. “But if you want, some friends and I are gonna be in my room…”

He mimes smoking for a second, so Louis gets the message. Wouldn’t it be better to be able to talk to Louis in his room anyway, where it’s quieter, and there’s fewer people to disturb them?

“Maybe once I get a few more of these in me,” Louis says, waving his bottle in the air. “Then I’ll come up.”

Harry fights his instinct to grin like a madman. “Um— cool, yeah. Uh, my name is on my door.”

And so now he waits. 

He goes back upstairs after grabbing a few cups, and pours himself a drink once he’s back. Liam’s at his desk now with his own drink. Nothing hard, though. Liam’s never been the biggest drinker. 

Harry kicks off his shoes and sits on his bed, back against the headboard and legs outstretched. The bottle of rum is on his nightstand, a sorry excuse for needing to go downstairs, but he drinks his cup anyway. 

Alexa gets there soon, bypassing the crowd below and coming right up. Charlotte follows her in. He doesn’t know Charlotte well, but she always ends up in his room during parties. He’s come to accept her as part of the group that does. She sits at the bottom of Harry’s bed, criss-cross, and Alexa follows suit. 

Right away, Alexa gushes about her latest role in a school production and how her thesis is going. She takes out a small tupperware from her bag and pops it open, revealing a lot of small squares of what looks like gummy candy.

Just, gummy candy that gets you high after a few.

They pass the box around, and Alexa pours herself a hefty cup of rum.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?” Charlotte squeaks, tucking her light pink hair behind her ears before popping an edible into her mouth.

“Just trying to have fun,” Alexa laughs. 

It takes a few minutes for any of them to feel anything. 

“Are you high yet?” Charlotte asks the room at large. All of them shake their heads. “I think I’m high.”

“Did you smoke before you got here?” Harry questions. Charlotte nods. “There you go.”

“Did you know that Mitch is dating Sarah?” Alexa says. Charlotte whips her head around, but both Harry and Liam respond with, “Yes.”

In danger of getting whiplash, Charlotte looks back at the boys. “How do _you_ guys know?”

Liam says, “Mitch lives upstairs,” before taking another sip from his cup. 

“I’ve seen them. And _heard_ them,” Harry adds. 

Charlotte grumbles. “Who told you?” She turns to Alexa.

Alexa shrugs innocently. “Kacey did. She’s rooming with Sarah this year, over in the double apartments.”

The conversation devolves from there, going in circles of gossip about their classmates. Harry doesn’t know why unimportant information about the people they go to school with is so interesting. The rum he’s had probably adds up to a few shots, and he’s sure he’s feeling the edibles he ate. 

Eventually, Liam stands. “I’m gonna go find Zayn,” he says. “Maybe grab another drink.”

Harry nods. Substance use is messing with his perception of time, and he has no idea how long it’s been. Must have been a while if Liam is done with his drink. 

Alexa and Charlotte look at the open door where Liam has just made his exit. Both look deep in thought. 

“I kind of want to dance,” Charlotte declares, Alexa nodding along seriously. They both must be high. He’s not sure the last time he saw either of them dance. 

“And leave me here alone?” Harry says. Alexa stands and goes around the bed to where Harry is, and tugs on the hand that isn’t holding his drink.

“Come with us, Haz,” she says. 

It doesn’t take Harry long to give in, slowly getting up from his bed and putting on his shoes. He’d rather be downstairs than alone in his room, high while the world moves on below him. 

The three of them walk down the hallway to where the stairs are, but just as they’re about to turn the corner, Louis does first, running directly into them.

“Oh shit, sorry, sorry,” Louis starts before he sees who it is. “Harry!” 

He’s holding a red cup filled with murky red-orange liquid.

He looks like he’s swaying on his feet. Harry moves to put both hands on his shoulders, passing his cup to Alexa. “Are you okay to stand?”

Louis nods. The girls, seeing that he’s occupied, move out of the way to go down the stairs and leave him to handle Louis.

“We’ll see you later, Haz,” Charlotte says as they slink down the steps together. Harry nods, not sure if they even see him. 

He turns his attention back to Louis. Louis is looking around the hallway, as if fascinated with the most mundane parts of it. The old photos on the wall, the painted baseboards. His eyes are a bit glassy. 

“You’re off your face, aren’t you?” Harry says, and Louis’ attention turns back to him. 

“Very much so,” Louis tells him. “I did a lot of shots with Niall!” Already a bad start, but Louis isn’t finished yet. “And I had a lot of these— um, this mix.”

He raises his cup.

“The jungle juice?” Harry gags. That stuff is always nasty, no matter what the mix is. And the taste of the gross amount of alcohol in it is usually well-hidden by whatever juice is put in with it. Easy to get carried away. 

Thinking on his feet, Harry says, “Okay. We’re gonna get you back downstairs and get you a lot of water, is that okay with you?”

Louis nods. “Wait, but I came here so I could go to your room. I wanna go to your room.”

He wriggles out of Harry’s loose grip and keeps walking down the hall at a rapid pace. Sighing, Harry rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. How did he go from tipsy and high to _this_ in seconds?

He follows Louis down the hall and grabs his shoulder again just as Louis reaches Harry’s door. “Hey— water first, then my room.”

Louis doesn’t get a chance to respond, though, because the music shuts off suddenly, and Harry hears the telltale sounds of a crowd of people coming up the stairs. Both Harry and Louis pause.

Among the muffled chatter, Harry hears once voice call out as loudly as they dare, “Cops!” and Harry goes into a panic mode. 

He can hear people being shuffled out into the backyard, so the cops must have just pulled up. Some brothers are leading the crowd coming upstairs, sending a few people to the third floor and getting the rest into people’s bedrooms. 

Before anyone can get shuffled into his room, he swings his door open and shoves Louis in, following quickly and nearly slamming the door, turning the lock. As long as they stay in here, they’ll be fine.

“Cops,” Louis says. He turns around to see Louis over by his window, looking down. When Harry looks out, he sees two cops coming up to the door. He can’t tell who answers it when they knock. 

“C’mon,” he says, and moves Louis gently to his bed. “Sit here.”

Louis makes himself at home. He spreads out on Harry’s sheets, oddly reminiscent of how Niall had earlier. When he lays his head on the sheets, Harry has a vision of Louis being sick and then choking. Bad idea. He tries not to be harsh as he maneuvers Louis into a seated position, criss-cross by his pillows. 

“Just— stay still,” Harry says, feeling like a parent.

“Everything is great,” Louis says. “Everything is _fucking_ great.” He then puts his face in his hands and groans.

“Louis, the cops are here. Just—,” Harry starts. Louis needs to sober up. Like, now. 

“But that's fine. There's rules and stuff for that,” Louis says. “But isn’t it great that we’re hanging out?”

Harry softens. He knows Louis is drunk off his face, but he must have been thinking it sober for him to be saying it now. He’s so glad Louis wants to hang out with him, too.

“It is. Now wait here, I’m going to get us some water, okay?” Harry says, and Louis just nods. Harry takes one of the cups he’d brought up earlier and slips out of his room and to the bathroom down the hall. There, he slowly fills up the cup to the brim with water and tries to be as quiet as he can on his walk back. He doesn’t meet anyone in the halls, but he can hear a few sounds from behind doors, and below a muffled conversation at the door. 

Louis is right, though. There are rules and stuff for this kind of thing. It’s better that the small-town cops show up than campus police, anyways. Cops need a reason to come in. Legally speaking. Campus police have nearly free reign. There’d be no stopping them from coming in and investigating if they wanted to. If all they got was a measly noise complaint, whatever brothers at the door are sober and can just promise to turn it down. It should be over and done with soon. In his experience, small-town cops aren’t likely to put that much energy into a noise complaint about a frat house.

He slips back through his door to find Louis in the same position as earlier. He goes over and nudges him to drink the water. 

“Thank you, Haz,” Louis says softly before taking a few sips.

He’s a little surprised. “Haz?” 

“That's what they called you earlier, right? Haz, short for Harry?” Louis asks. Harry gives a meek nod. “I like it. Haz.”

Harry bites his lip. Inside it feels like he’s going to be sick, like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He looks at Louis, really looks at him for the first time since he’d come into his room.

He looks mostly the same as he had earlier. Dark jeans, loose sweater. He’s wearing Vans, which were now on Harry’s bed, so he hopes they’re clean. But his face looks different. Not drunker, though he is that, but….quieter. He didn’t realize there was a hardness to Louis’ eyes until now. Now, it's like a wall comes down, and his eyes are just wide, a bit innocent looking. 

He just looks happy.

Harry does his water run one more time after Louis has downed the first cup. He tells Louis to drink the second cup slowly.

“Move over,” he says gently, and Louis scoots to the other side of his bed. Harry sits down next to him. 

Louis sips at his water, offering some to Harry. He takes it. He’s probably still high, or tipsy, or both, even if he doesn’t feel like it. 

“Haz, _Haaaaaz_ ,” Louis says quietly.

“What is it, Louis?” he asks. Louis says nothing, but leans his head and rests it on Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s insides churn, and he fights to keep a smile off his face. 

Louis shakes his head as best he can in his current position. “Haz.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Louis says. “I just like it. Haz.”

This time, Harry smiles widely. It’s not like Louis is looking anyway. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, and soon Harry starts to hear doors opening and people streaming into the hallway again. The cops must be gone.

Still, them showing up probably means the party is over. The music doesn’t go back on, and he thinks the brothers are probably sending people out in small groups, or getting people in cars so the gaggle of people drunkenly walking back home isn’t as obvious. 

“Louis, do you want to go home?” he asks. Louis shakes his head again, lifting his head to drink his water. 

“Are you sure? I can take you home now,” he says. Louis shakes his head insistently. 

“Wanna stay here,” he says softly. Harry ignores his heart clenching at that. Louis doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s still kind of drunk, probably just doesn’t want to make the walk home. He’s fairly sure Louis lives on the other side of campus. 

After that, Louis doesn’t seem very interested in talking. He finishes his water, and Harry gets on his phone, checking his messages, occasionally glancing up at Louis. He seems to get more sober over time, which is good.

At one point, Louis declares he’s going to the bathroom, and when he leaves the room, Harry takes the opportunity to change out of his clothes and into something more comfortable. He strips of his restricting clothes and puts on old athletic shorts and a soft DeOm shirt.

When Louis gets back, he looks like he feels better. Still maybe a bit tipsy, but nowhere near his earlier level of drunkenness. 

“Do you want to borrow something?” Harry asks. Louis nods mechanically, not all there, so Harry finds a pair of sweatpants and a shirt he thinks will fit Louis, and hands them over. 

“Um, I’m just gonna use the bathroom,” Harry says awkwardly. He leaves quickly and takes his time in the bathroom, washing his hands more than a few times so Louis has ample time, or whatever, to get changed without Harry there.

Louis is back on his bed when he gets back, on his phone texting someone. He looks up when Harry enters, and smiles. 

A voice in the back of Harry’s brain whispers _I could get used to this_ , but the moment Harry hears it he swallows, hard, and ignores it. 

“Uh— I can sleep downstairs on a couch if you want,” Harry stutters. “Or, um, I can still walk you back home.”

Louis laughs lightly, nothing like the full sound he’s heard before. This one feels special, private. Just for him. Like an inside joke. 

“You’re sleeping in your own bed, Haz,” Louis says. “I am too, if that’s fine with you.”

Harry nods, not trusting his words. Slowly, he crawls under the covers of his bed, all too aware that Louis is doing the same, so close to him. Initially, he faces his desk, not looking at Louis, but after a few minutes he gets uncomfortable and turns over. Now, he’s only a foot from Louis’ face, and Louis has turned around too.

He doesn’t think Louis is asleep already, and it's confirmed when Louis’ eyes blink open sleepily. For the first time since the cops had gotten here, Harry looks at Louis, and Louis looks at him. _Really_ looks. 

“Can you see me?” Louis whispers. 

Harry doesn’t understand the question, not really, but nods anyway. “Yeah, I see you.”

“Really?” Louis asks. 

“Mhmm, I see you,” Harry repeats. 

Louis looks happy with that answer, and closes his eyes again. He turns over, away from Harry. 

Harry wants to do the same, but instead he stays where he is, look at Louis’ back in his shirt. He doesn’t know what’s stopping him from turning over, putting Louis out of his mind and going to sleep. Except how can he get Louis out of his mind when he’s so close?

Sighing, Harry turns onto his back instead, looking resolutely at the ceiling. He’s tried, he thinks, this past month to never think of Louis Tomlinson as a crush. Every flutter he feels, every time he has to look away from Louis, every goofy smile Louis brings to his face. He wants it so badly to mean nothing, but now, with Louis so close, so reachable, he can’t ignore what has been in the back of his head since the moment he met Louis. 

He has a crush on Louis. And it’s going nowhere. Because Louis, free Louis, likes to hook up with people and lose their numbers. Hasn’t dated anyone since the start of university, according to his friends, who Harry has questioned on the matter. He’s almost certain Niall knows how he feels. 

Louis. Harry wants everything Louis doesn’t; he wants dates and late nights and kissing and sleeping in a bed with him, without sex. He knows he’s in a bed with Louis right now, but he can’t help but feel that, even if Louis is physically within reach, he’s actually miles away. 

Harry isn’t insecure about his dating habits, or lack thereof, or his inexperience with other guys. But what if Louis doesn’t want that? Doesn’t want some awkward— _kid,_ that can barely sleep a foot away from him without freaking out?

God, _kid_. The moment he thinks the word, he knows it’s true. He’s a kid compared to Louis. He’s nineteen, and he thinks he remembers Louis telling him he was born on Christmas Eve, so Louis will be twenty-two before Harry even turns twenty. Why would Louis want him?

He’s overthinking, again. None if this matters, because Louis isn’t interested in him, and the reasons why don’t matter. 

Resolving to forget about his crush, at least until morning, Harry closes his eyes and forces sleep to come. 

**

When Louis wakes up the next morning, he momentarily forgets where he is. He blinks his eyes open to the sun streaming in through a nearby window, through what window though he’s not sure of. 

The sight that greets him is unfamiliar. He’s in a bed, a soft one, and he can see a desk piled high with books and papers. There's a tall lamp standing nearby. On the walls, there are taped up pictures of people; friends and family he’d guess. 

He’s warm, under a thick layer of bed sheets, and when his eyes focus on the other person in the bed, he’s startled, yet unsurprised, to see Harry beside him, fast asleep. 

Louis is turned to face him, but Harry is on his back, mouth slightly open. His chest rises and falls with soft, deep breaths. His brown curls frame his face delicately, beautifully. He’s softer in sleep, Louis thinks. He looks younger, like the nineteen year old he actually is. 

Louis doesn’t know where his phone is, but he searches the sheets around him until he finds it. Clicking it on, the time tells him it’s eight in the morning, and the only reason Louis doesn’t groan loudly is that Harry is still asleep. 

Glancing at Harry, not for long, Louis makes the decision to slip out of the bed and exit his room, wandering downstairs to the kitchen. 

The kitchen is small, smaller than a kitchen that has to serve most of the DeOm brothers should be, but its size means Louis doesn’t spend long rustling through the cupboards to find some bread. He finds a loaf that has a sticky note on it with the words _Niall’s bread_ written on it, which doesn’t make much sense since Niall doesn’t live here, but Louis also doesn’t care enough to question it. He just checks the expiration date to make sure it’s still good before taking a few slices out and popping them into a toaster he finds plugged in. 

While he waits around for the toast to be done, he ponders the night before. He remembers it, vaguely, more like a dream than anything. Even though the party had ended early, he’d certainly used the hour or so it was in full swing to drink as much as he could. 

He wishes he didn’t know why, but the inevitable answer his mind provides is _Harry_. Harry made him nervous, just on edge enough that he’d done shots and drank several cups of a disgusting mixture before he even thought to go find Harry. 

Embarrassingly, the parts of last night he remembers clearest is the time he spent in Harry’s room, before he went to sleep. This time, he does groan loudly when he recalls how he’d latched on to Harry’s nickname, _Haz_. And, worst of all, right before he went to bed, his question, _Can you see me?_

Why had he said that? It’s a question he can’t even begin to answer, except that since the start of the school year, he’s wondered what people see in him. What people see _of_ him. 

He thinks back to Niall’s eerily perceptive looks, or when Zayn had mentioned _brotherhood_. Who is he to them? How does his life mesh with theirs, and why is he suddenly feeling like he doesn’t know the answers to anything?

He jumps when the toast pops up. He quickly puts two more slices in and waits. He decides he doesn’t want to bother looking for butter or jam, and that plain toast will have to do. Once he has a total of four slices, he grabs a plate from a shelf that he hopes is clean and carries it back upstairs, back to Harry. 

He doesn’t know whether to sit at his desk and eat or not, so he sits back on the end of Harry’s bed and decides to mess around on his phone for a while. 

When he sits, the bed dips, and something about the movement must wake Harry, because Louis gets to see him open his eyes wearily and remember everything. When he moves his head, he immediately spots Louis. 

There’s a bit of a panicked look in his eyes but he smiles anyway. 

“Morning,” Harry mumbles, sitting up. 

Louis hums around the bread he’s just put in his mouth. He pushes the plate of toast towards Harry, indicating he should eat some. He’d made enough for two, figuring if Harry didn’t wake up by the time Louis had to leave, he could leave the toast on his nightstand. 

Harry grabs some gratefully, and they don’t talk until they’ve both finished their first piece. He doesn’t know about Harry, but Louis at least is at a loss for words. 

“How do you feel?” Harry asks, just then.

Louis pauses to take account of his body and mind. He’s surprised to realize he doesn’t have a hangover. 

“Good, I think,” he says. “The water must have helped.”

“Good. You were, um, really drunk for a bit there,” Harry says, grabbing his second piece. 

“Uh— yeah, sorry about that,” Louis says. “I didn’t mean to make you my babysitter.”

Harry shrugs. “I didn’t mind. Party was over once the cops showed up anyways.”

Louis hums. He remembers that happening. He resists the urge to just flat-out stare at Harry while he eats. He can’t pinpoint why he wants to so badly, but Harry is just so interesting, even in the most mundane of moments. Right now, he’s quietly chewing on toast, and yet. _And yet_ , his curls fall in his face, and Louis wonders how long he’s been growing it out for. A year? Longer? _And yet_ , with the hand that isn’t holding his toast, Harry’s fingers are tracing shapes on his ankle. Louis can’t tell if it’s shapes, or words, or what, but it’s captivating. The gentle brush of his fingers against his skin, the familiarity and casualty of the movement. 

What would it feel like on Louis’ skin?

“You were funny,” Harry says suddenly. “You called me ‘Haz’ a bunch.”

Louis’ face heats up. “I guess I thought it was funny, sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“No—,” Harry rushes to say. “You’re fine. I liked it.”

Immediately, Harry almost retreats into himself and blushes. 

“Oh. Okay, thanks,” Louis stammers. “Thanks for, you know, letting me stay here”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says, looking sincere. 

“I, uh— I need to go soon, I have work,” Louis says, looking at Harry's reaction. He looks startled, but hides it well.

“Yeah! Yeah, that makes sense. Uh— I need to shower, so I’m gonna…do that,” Harry says quickly. His exit is quick, and Louis is left wondering what had just happened. 

Why were they so weird? Louis—- Louis can’t grasp it, why Harry makes him so weird. 

**

Louis sees Harry on Sunday, and then works the next week by himself. The October air has finally settled in, it seems, and so Louis starts wearing sweaters and jackets more, and even taking a beanie out when he works. He still doesn’t wear gloves, even when it’s freshly rained and the soil threatens to numb his fingertips. 

When he clocks in that day, he doesn’t actually plan on getting that much work done outdoors. Instead, he takes a few buckets of weeds to a composting stationing nearby, and then locks up the empty buckets in the shed. Then, he walks to an administrative building to find his supervisor’s office. 

When he knocks on the open door, Matt looks up.

“What can I do for you?” He says. Louis and Matt don’t talk often. Mostly, Matt just approves his hours and makes sure he gets paid every month. He’s not even really sure what else Matt does here. Student affairs, maybe?

“Hey, Matt,” Louis starts. “Can you order some more compost? I’m gonna need some next month, I think.”

Matt nods, of course, because Louis doesn’t ask for much. “‘Course I can. Anything else?”

Louis thinks. “Don’t think so, just that.”

“I’ll have it delivered next week,” Matt says. Louis goes to leave before he hears Matt speak again. “Hold on, Louis, just a minute.”

Louis turns back around. “Yeah?”

“Have you been sending out the emails for open volunteer hours? Anyone showing up?” Matt asks. Right, that's what Matt does, he’s pretty sure now. Student events, and then measuring student engagement. 

Right then, Louis realizes the answer is _no_. He hasn’t sent out an email since school started. Open volunteer hours normally happen on Sundays, but recently his Sundays have all been occupied by… Harry. And the idea of seeing just Harry every week has maybe kept Louis from sending out those emails. 

Well, he can’t exactly tell Matt he hasn’t been doing part of his job, like, _at all_. 

“Yeah, sent a few emails,” Louis lies. “But no dice. And it’s getting colder, so I wouldn’t bet on anyone else.”

Matt nods, noting it on a piece of paper he has beside him, 

“But, um,” Louis says, “I do have someone volunteering every week.”

Matt looks up. “That's great! Why didn’t you say?” _Because it’s none of your business_ , Louis thinks, except it is, so he can’t exactly say it. “That’s good engagement for one person.”

Louis agrees, but doesn’t share any more about his one volunteer. 

When Louis finally leaves, he tries to get some work done in the garden. He settles with just doing the daily watering, and goes slower than usual. 

He can’t believe he’d forgotten about the emails. It hadn’t even been a conscious thing, but until Matt mentioned it, Louis had completely forgotten that that's something he does. Is _supposed_ to do. 

He’s pretty sure it doesn’t matter, because probably no one would have shown up, like normal. But what if someone had? What if instead of just him and Harry on Sundays, it was some random person from the email list, too?

Louis feels disappointment rise in him. He’d hate that. He already normally prefers to work alone, but now he prefers to work with just Harry. What would happen to their inane conversations? Someone else would be a part of them, and Louis hates the idea as soon as he thinks it.

Strange. 

He’s not attracted to Harry, he knows that much. Whatever he feels towards Harry, it’s nothing like the pull of attraction, however momentary, Louis feels towards guys he’d hooked up with before. 

It’s always like a game. Like, he’s at a party and sees a guy. Maybe they’ve talked before, maybe they haven’t. Maybe Louis doesn’t even know his name at first. But it always goes the same. They make eye contact, they drink. Soon, one of them, usually the other guy, but not always, goes up to the other. 

They talk. They flirt a bit, all the while both knowing what each other wants in the end. It’s rarely friendly conversation, it’s the stepping stones they have to take to get where they’re going. 

And Louis. Louis always feels that excitement, even though he knows the routine. The excitement because he doesn’t know _exactly_ how it’ll go, what jokes they’ll make, whose room they’ll end up in. And it makes Louis excited, because he’s good at the game. 

None of that is what he feels with Harry. It’s softer. It’s not a game. It’s not attraction. Friendship?

Louis hasn’t made a close friend since his first year when he fell in with Niall and Zayn and such. He’s so comfortable with them that he doesn’t remember what the beginning was like. Was it as simultaneously uncomfortable and wonderful as this?

**

“That looks terrifying,” Harry comments as Louis pulls the weed whacker out of the shed. It really is kind of terrifying, Harry thinks, so he feels justified. On one end is a small, boxy thing that looks like it should be the engine— motor? He doesn’t know what to call it. The other end is hidden by a small plastic guard, but underneath are plastic strings Harry knows is meant to slice through grass. He doesn’t think it would be pleasant to touch.

“It’s really not,” Louis laughs, carrying it to a small empty area and setting it down. “You can learn how to use it, if you want.”

Harry’s instincts say no way does he trust himself to wield the weed whacker around, but he considers the potential of Louis teaching him how to use it. 

“Okay,” he says finally. Louis grins and starts shaking the motor part. 

“So, I shake it because the fuel,” Louis points to where the fuel is, “separates in between uses, and so you want to mix it together again. Then, you follow the directions here.”

It’s a list in small print on the motor part that directs all the right buttons to press and switches to flip, Louis does them in quick succession, clearly comfortable and familiar with it. 

“Now, the fun part,” Louis says. He stands and bends over at his waist, one hand on the neck of the weed whacker and the other grabbing the recoil start. He pulls it a few times, quickly, the movement of his shoulder painfully distracting to Harry. His back muscles feature prominently through his shirt. Not to mention the mere image of Louis bending over like that.

He startles out of his thoughts when the engine roars to life and Louis clicks one more switch. 

“Now what?” Harry says over the noise. It’s more than a little annoying, and definitely harder to talk to Louis this way. 

“Give it a minute and then we’ll use it. Also, put your sunglasses on!” Louis replies, putting on clear protective glasses. Harry does as he’s told.

When Louis picks up the weed whacker, he hefts it so it’s right against the back of his arm, reaching his shoulder, and wraps his hand around the neck, resting his fingers on the throttle trigger and pushes down with his palm on the control button, making the weed whacker calm down and work. He thinks. He thinks that's what it does. 

Louis motions for him to come stand by him, and so Harry does, careful to not get too close. 

“Watch carefully, Haz,” Louis says. “First, you pull on the throttle, and _then_ you bring it down to whatever you’re cutting.”

Louis does just that, pulling on the throttle so the strings at the end spin to life. Then he slowly lowers the machine until the strings are in the grass in front of them, and Harry can hear them cutting the grass like it’s nothing. Little blades of grass fly around, and as Louis gently moves the machine in a small arc, more and more covers the ground. 

Then, Louis lets go of the throttle, and the strings quiet down again. 

“Not bad, right?” Louis looks at him, smiling. Harry nods, unconfident. “Do you wanna give it a go?”

Harry doesn’t, but agrees anyway. Louis carefully passes it over to him and helps get the engine to rest on his arm just right. 

He fumbles getting his hands on the shaft ( _God_ — why did he pick that word) and the throttle, so Louis interrupts his confused movements and grabs his right hand, gently moving it to where it should be and arranging it right. That is, Louis’ fingers curl around his as his own fingers wrap around the throttle, and Harry swears the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, electrocuted. He can feel every little point of contact between them.

Louis steps back, and everything within Harry shifts, itching to feel his skin against his own again. 

“Got it?” Louis asks. Harry nods. “Okay, now squeeze the throttle and try on some tall grass.”

Harry slowly closes his hand so the throttle pulls up and hears the strings start spinning again. He moves a few feet away from where Louis had cut the grass, and moves the weed whacker downward until he hears the telltale sound of plastic string against grass. 

He doesn’t want to move, so he just waits a few seconds until he thinks all the grass in that one patch has been cut and then releases the throttle. 

Once the blades stop spinning, he looks at Louis. “Was that okay?”

Louis laughs. “Great, Haz. Next time you can move around, too.”

Harry glances hesitatingly at the weed whacker. Still in hand, he says, “I don’t really want to go again.”

Looking surprised, Louis says, “Okay, no pressure. Here, do you wanna hand it back to me?”

He does. And he doesn’t really get any volunteering in that morning, since Louis starts cutting down weeds and grass and Harry is helpless to just stand back and watch. 

**

What was he doing here? Weeks after the last party, Louis is back at it. Classes are killing him, and he barely has time to kick a ball around let alone spend a night getting wasted, so when the opportunity presented itself, he took it.

So that’s how he ended up here, back at the DeOm house on a crystal clear Friday night, with no work tomorrow morning, thankfully. Last weekend with Harry they’d cut the pumpkins off their vines (the ones that hadn’t already broken off) and pulled up the roots, loading the pumpkins into the truck of a local pumpkin seller. October was finally winding down, it felt like. But since then, he hasn’t seen much of Harry at all. 

Though he’s exhausted, he has a drink in hand and he’s sitting in an overly plush and outdated chair in the DeOm living room, his head leaning back.

While music blares around him, he feels haplessly alone at the party. He’d been talking with Zayn, who had left some time ago out the back door onto the deck, and he’d shown up with Niall and Oli, but both had wandered off immediately. 

“Hey— Louis, right?” Louis hears a voice say from beside him. Looking up, he sees Sarah and… Charlotte, he thinks, who must have been the one who’d spoken. She has light pink hair to her shoulders, and he thinks he’s seen her around the house before. Is she dating someone here?

“Yeah,” he says. 

“I saw you a couple weeks go with Haz,” Charlotte says, and Louis remembers that she was there with Alexa when he’d gone up to find Harry before the cops had arrived and basically ended the night. 

“Yeah, yeah, I was,” Louis says. He doesn’t really know these people, only knows Sarah because she lives below him with Kacey in a two person apartment. He doesn’t know Charlotte beyond name. 

Still, they apparently take his minimal engagement as an excuse to sit down on a small couch next to him. Sarah doesn’t look too interested, but Charlotte leans in close, keeping her drink steady. 

“So, like, what’s with you two?” she says, and if Louis was tired before, it’s all gone now. _You two_? Who? Him and Harry?

“What do you mean?” he asks. Is it written all over his face? What is _it_ , anyway?

“Well, he talks about you a lot,” Charlotte replies, still not mentioning Harry’s name. Still, it’s not hard to infer that they’re talking about the same person. Sarah nods along absently to Charlotte’s words. So Harry’s been talking about him. Saying what? _Seeing_ what?

“We’re friends,” Louis says firmly. “That’s all. We’re— new friends.” New friends sounds right. It’s only been a few months since he formally met Harry, and it’s not like they hang out all the time. They’re just… friends. Just friends. 

Charlotte shrugs. “Hm. Okay. I guess I thought differently. I’m going to get a new drink,” she says, and with that she seems to decide the conversation is over. She makes her way through the crowd with Sarah close by. 

The words _just friends_ ping around in his head until his thoughts all jumbled. 

Across the room, Louis’ eyes land on a guy leaning up against the back wall of the house, laughing with friends. He looks tall, and he’s somehow dressed for summer in denim shorts. He looks like a model, if Louis’ being honest. Dark hair, thick eyebrows, slim face. He’s not looking at Louis, but Louis keeps his eyes on the guy for a minute and sips his beer steadily. 

A moment later, the guy’s head turns, maybe just scanning the room, and his eyes fall on Louis.

As the guy lifts his drink, he doesn’t break eye contact. Louis knows what it means, not like he wasn’t doing the same thing a second ago. He has that kind of smirk-smile that’s automatically suggestive. 

Louis feels that familiar rush, the rush of uncertainty, of risk. Either this ends in burning flames or in Louis maybe, finally, getting his mind off the boy he can’t stop thinking about. 

The guy cocks his head to the side, and when Louis glances in that direction. It’s the stairs to the second floor. Without looking back at the guy, Louis gets up and downs the rest of his drink. Wiping the back of his hand against his mouth, he moves towards the stairs. 

He isn’t certain someone is behind him until he’s halfway up the steps, when he hears heavy foot fall below him. He waits, though, until he’s at the top to turn around.

“Hey,” the guy says. “I’m Luke.” Louis’ walking backwards, the guy—Luke— almost pushing him in a certain direction. When Louis looks behind him, he sees the end of the short hallway, where a window is close, covered with a curtain. 

“Louis,” Louis says simply as he hits the wall, Luke crowding his space. Luckily, the window has the perfect little ledge, and so Louis makes the small hop up so that he’s comfortably seated. Once there, Luke’s hands brush against his waist.

“Do you come here often, Louis?” he says. Louis almost laughs.

“Occasionally. You?”

“Not really into the whole frat scene, but…” Luke trails off. Louis raises his eyebrows in question. “It has its perks,” Luke finished. 

As Luke drifts closer to him, Louis brings his hands up around Luke's shoulders. His eyes are dark, framed by long eyelashes. Louis’ legs open just the slightest amount to let Luke get even closer. So close. 

“Perks? Like what?” Louis whispers, so quiet no one outside of Luke could even hear it.

Before Luke can actually respond, if he was going to respond at all, Louis surges forward and kisses him, not taking a second for softness.

Luke replies in kind, meeting him halfway, the grip on his hips getting tighter as Luke moves his whole body even closer to him. 

It becomes hot and heavy, fast. The breaths they take between lips meeting makes the whole air feel charged, so every inhale is warm. Luke’s hands slide down the smooth denim fabric of Louis’ jeans to his thighs, raising them up so he’s barely even sitting anymore. Gripping his legs, he yanks Louis ever closer until their bodies are touching, from groin to lips. Louis, likewise, uses his hands to grasp on Luke’s hair, short as it is in the back, and hold the back of his neck. 

Louis parts his lips, just a bit, to let Luke in, let it become wetter and stronger. Luke tastes of alcohol, the kind of dizzying flavor that signals more than just the bare bones. A sweetener, maybe. Something with sugar. 

Luke’s lips are nice, soft and just forceful enough that Louis feels the slightest bit overpowered. Not usually his preference, but tonight it works. Tonight Louis feels a magnetic pull, and he’s just waiting to find what’s on the other end. He smells something, cologne maybe, that’s just a tad intoxicating, that makes him want more. He also has a hint of stubble, enough that Louis feels it rough against the skin around his mouth. 

The press of Luke’s fingers into his skin, despite the barrier, makes heat pool in Louis’ stomach. It's like a small bubble had formed around the moment, the space, and Louis was grateful for it. This is exactly what he was looking for out of the night. 

Somewhere nearby, a door slams shut, but that doesn’t break Louis out of the bubble. 

The first time Luke pulls back for more than a short beat, he moves to Louis’ jaw, brushing his lips tantalizingly against the soft skin. Louis’ hand slips from Luke’s neck, sliding down his thin shirt. He briefly remembers being bewildered by Luke’s manner of dress, as if it wasn’t freezing outside, but now he’s grateful, because he can muss up the hem of his shirt and get his hand on bare skin even faster. And it’s not cold. It’s so, so hot. 

Louis has his eyes closed tight, enjoying the feel of Luke’s lips sucking at just the right spot, below his ear, but he imagines opening them and seeing soft green eyes looking back. And— 

And. 

Green eyes. Louis had been thinking of green eyes, the same sea green eyes that he saw weekly, Sunday mornings like clockwork. 

And.

He’s picturing Harry. He opens his eyes, and it’s like the perfect bubble he’d created pops. Back to reality, where a guy named Luke is holding him. Was this what he had come to the DeOm house for tonight? What is he doing? 

Louis doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he does know he doesn’t actually want to be here.

He’d fooled himself. 

In a second, he takes his hand off Luke’s hair, his warm skin, and pushes him away. Luke stumbles, and Louis might feel a bit guilty if his mind wasn’t racing right now. 

“What the fuck?” Luke asks. His face twists into a mix of confused and upset. Not quite angry, but Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he was a little bit angry. 

“Sorry— sorry,” Louis gets out. “I just. I can’t be here.” He looks around wildly, but there really is no easy exit except going right by Luke. He does it quickly, and Luke moves to the side when he sees Louis start. 

In seconds, Louis is flying down the stairs, leaving Luke with a bewildered expression behind him. His mind is already miles ahead. Or maybe his mind is just down the hall in a different room. 

It’s like his mouth and body are speaking and moving without his control, but he finds Niall and tells him he’s going home. Niall nods, a little distracted, and maybe recognizing that Louis isn’t in the mood to talk. 

With that, Louis leaves. Alone, and as easy as he arrived. Not exactly his plans for the night, but that doesn’t matter anymore. The cold air bites his skin to the bone, giving him goosebumps. He walks quickly, faster than normal, and thinks. 

He circles what just happened until he’s digging his keys out of his pocket and pushing open his door. He barely kicks off his shoes before he barrels back to his room. 

_Harry_. All his mind tells him, over and over again, is _Harry_. _Harry, Harry, Harry Harry Harry_. Until it's too much.

Why had he pictured Harry when making out with another guy?

It’s not like the answer is exactly a secret, but Louis is sure he’s been avoiding it for enough weeks now that it still hits him like a train when he thinks it.

He has a crush on Harry. A crush. 

It’s not like he’s never had a crush before, he’s not a child, but it’s been a while. Last time he remembers having crushes was when he was in his early teens, just discovering his sexuality. Even since he started at university, his mind has been elsewhere. Classes, friends, hookups, work, the future. Never…crushes. 

But this is why Harry had felt so different from anyone else. He wasn’t just a friend, like he’d told Charlotte and Sarah earlier. He’d been more than that since the start. But there wasn’t that same push and pull of excitement that surrounded a hookup, either. 

It was this perfect balance, this perfect combination of wanting it all. The friendship, the hooking up, and everything in between. 

His stomach was tied in knots, fearful and fluttery all at once. He doesn’t know what to do. Does he tell someone, anyone? Harry is out of the question. He can’t fathom the idea of telling Harry how he feels, he thinks it might just spill out of him with minimal elegance. Niall? Zayn? Does he dare? 

He can already picture what they’d say. Both would tell him to tell Harry, to be open about his feelings. Well, Niall would. Zayn might tell him it’s already obvious. When Louis thinks about it, it is, isn’t it?

It must be, with the way his eyes are always on Harry, how he always aches for Sunday to come, obviously and loudly, even if he didn’t know he was doing it. 

Even with Luke, he was thinking of Harry without realizing it. Harry and his brown curls, the ones that hang at his chin and his neck or get pushed up by a scarf. Wild and unruly. Green eyes and pink lips and the image of perfection that keeps Louis up at night. Harry, who makes Louis laugh recklessly and makes him look forward to dreary weekend mornings when he has a hangover half the time. 

Fraternity man, Community Service Chair. Barista. Mathematician and musician. His friend. The object of his affection, the subject of his attraction. Harry. It’s all Harry. Everywhere, all the time. And what ever is he going to do about it?

Actually, maybe there’s no point in dwelling on it. It is what it is. Louis is more than a little infatuated with Harry, and there’s _nothing_ he can do about it. 

Besides, he remembers what Harry had told him weeks, months, ago when he’d seen Nick at a party. Harry doesn’t hook up, and hasn’t since high school. And, as far as Louis is aware, he hasn’t dated anyone either. So he’s probably not interested in doing it, let alone doing it with Louis. He’s nineteen, he deserves to have the time and freedom to explore and figure out if he _wants_ to hook up with people. Not be tied to Louis. Now that, well, now that Louis has kind of realized he’s done hooking up. 

It’s not like he can go around hooking up with guys when all he sees when he closes his eyes is the same guy, on an endless loop. Always Harry. 

Louis must drive himself to madness by the time he drifts off to sleep in his bed, and still, even in his dreams, a perfect smile haunts him. 

**

Louis’ conversation with Zayn over coffee the next morning goes like this. Louis is still working through the gift card Niall gave him, and so he treats Zayn to a drink as well. The cafe is busy, filled with students getting a Saturday coffee. While he and Zayn sit at a small table off to the side of the commotion, he blurts it out.

“I think I like Harry,” he says. Simple. Effective. Right to the point. He wraps his hands around his warm cup, letting the heat seep into his body. 

“I know,” Zayn says, right on cue, and sips his drink. He looks bored, almost comically so. But he looks good. His undercut looks freshly shaved, and it looks like he has a new piercing in his ear. 

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands, twisting the ends of the fabric nervously. “You did?”

He knew Zayn would. Of course Zayn knows. 

“Did you buy me coffee to tell me that, or did you buy me coffee to ask me a question about it?” Zayn asks. 

Sighing, Louis says, “Do I do anything about it?”

“Do you mean _do you do anything_ , or do you mean _what do you do_?” Zayn says. 

“Stop asking more questions!” Louis exclaims, and then immediately looks around to make sure no one has heard them, but the noisy cafe keeps going and no one looks startled by his words, so he’s in the clear. "Who are you, Socrates?"

Zayn lets out a breath. “What happened?”

And so Louis recounts his failed, drunken hookup with Luke, from the moment it started to when Louis realized it was Harry he wants. “I’ve never felt like this before. Like, I know we’re friends, but I want more, and I have no idea what that is because I’ve never…done it.”

“Done what?”

“Dating. Like, seriously dating someone, not bullshit tween dating and not hooking up. How am I supposed to do it right with him? If I do it at all, which isn’t fucking likely,” Louis says. 

Zayn shrugs. “I mean…all you can do is try. Put yourself out there and hope you don’t fall.”

It feels far too… personal. Risky. To put it lightly, Louis has never been rejected, and he really isn't prepared for it. He doesn’t have an ego over it or anything, but to tell Harry how he feels, and then have it not turn out well? Louis can’t stand the idea. Why can’t he have a practice run or something?

So he scoffs. “Great plan, Zayn. And then get turned down and never be able to show my face in the DeOm house again. I can’t wait.”

His friend looks at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious,” he says. “Look, I’m not into telling other people’s secrets, so I’m not gonna run off and tell Harry, but it’s not like no one can see it. And who knows, maybe he can see it, and he knows, and _he feels the same way_.” 

“You’re so smart, Zayn, why didn’t I see it before?” Louis says sarcastically. 

“You’re not funny, Louis,” Zayn says. “But… I’m here if you want to talk about it. Or complain about it. I’m not gonna force you to do anything.”

Louis sighs. “Thanks, man.”

**

“Should I ask Luke about it?” Harry cries. He’s walking in circles in the DeOm Chapter room, feeling like he’s going to rip his own hair out if he doesn’t find a way to calm down.

Liam sighs heavily. “Why would you ask Luke about it?”

“Because I can’t ask Louis!” Harry says. “Because I _saw_ them, hooking up in _my_ hallway, and I— I. I don’t know what to do about it.”

Liam leans back against the worn out couch, and sunlight streams in through the open windows in the room, reminding Harry how much of the day has passed and how much of it he’s wasted, his mind only on Louis. And Luke.

“Do you have to do anything about it?” Liam asks, rubbing his eyes. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

He stops where he’s been frantically pacing and turns to look at Liam, daggers in his eyes. “I _like_ Louis. And I want to know what’s going on.”

Because Harry really had walked straight into what looked like the start of one of Louis’ hookups. They weren’t _hooking up_ yet, but Louis, pressed against the curtained window at the end of Harry’s hall, sure looked into it. His legs had been almost wrapped around Luke, a guy Harry recognized from the cafe. 

He briefly wonders where they ended up, who’s place Louis woke up in the next morning, but then shakes his head to forget the thought. All it reminds him of is the morning Louis woke up in _his_ bed, and that version of Louis is still so far out of reach. 

“Doesn’t mean you need to know details,” Liam points out. “But if you’re really that curious, why not ask Louis tomorrow? You’re seeing him in the morning, right?”

And, wow, yeah, _fuck_. Tomorrow is Sunday, and that’s when Harry normally works with Louis in the garden. He can’t show up, he really can’t. How is he meant to look at Louis, and not reveal all his sadness and anger and infatuation in minutes? He won’t make it a full two hours, talking and joking with Louis, watching how his face lights up when he laughs and feeling the heat of Louis’ small glances.

Harry’s sweater sleeves are a tad too long on him, so when he throws his hands in the air in exasperation, they swing freely. 

“I’m not seeing Louis tomorrow,” Harry resolves, despite Liam’s concerned look. “The beach clean up trip is tomorrow, right?”

He knows it is, he’s the one who organized it and then put Liam in charge since Harry didn’t want to miss a morning with Louis. 

When Liam nods, he continues, “So I’ll go on the trip. All day clean up trip.”

Liam shakes his head at him. “You’re impossible, you know that?” Harry gives him a look. “You’re not gonna get anywhere if you avoid him.”

“Well maybe I’m not trying to get anywhere,” Harry huffs. Liam raises his eyebrows at him, though, seeing right through him. “Well, even if I’m trying, and I’m not saying I am, I’m still not getting anywhere.”

“Bullshit. Just give it time, and you’ll see,” Liam shrugs.

Harry doesn’t think about his words at all.

**

Louis gets a text that night, just as he’s about to sleep. 

_Hey! Can’t make it tomorrow, beach clean up with the brothers. I’ll see you later this week?_

He’s both upset and relieved. Of course, he looks forward to seeing Harry every weekend without fail, especially since it’s his only guaranteed time to see him during the week, but on the other hand he has just that much more time to figure out what to do about him. 

There will always be more chances to see Harry.

**

Except, Louis circles back to being lonely again. Loneliest job on campus, he used to think. Looks like he’s right back where he started. Sure, most of the week he’s working alone, but Sundays are special; they're different. He shouldn’t be alone this morning, yet he is. Louis finds that he positively hates it.

He keeps seeing things, maybe just a weird bug or something, or thinks of something, like the guy he saw fall off his skateboard earlier that week, and when he turns to tell Harry, he isn't there. 

It’s also surprising, Louis finds. He’s never been used to having other people in the garden with him, but as soon as Harry’s gone, Louis feels his absence every second. He never realized how much of a fixture Harry had become in his life, and certainly not in his work. He can’t remember what Sundays were like without Harry. 

It’s just shit. 

Instead, Louis bundles up in a thick coat, puts on some protective glasses, and spends the morning tilling the front patch of land, where the pumpkins had previously been. He knows he’ll have to go over the soil a few more times over the week, but by the time two hours is up and Louis is set to clock out, he’s gotten started on erasing all traces of a pumpkin patch from the dirt and has unsuccessfully tried to avoid thinking of Harry every minute. 

Maybe he’ll find another way to see him this week. 

**

Turns out, it doesn't take long for Harry to regret his decision. Actually, he’s regretted it since he woke up this morning, but it doesn’t quite hit him that he won’t see Louis today until it’s early evening and he’s just arrived back to the house.

All day, he’s felt restless and distracted, and everything he sees makes him want to turn to Louis, to register _his_ reaction. 

Him and the guys had stopped for food on the drive back, so when he gets to his room he has half a mind to just go to sleep, to just forget the whole day. He doesn’t need to make dinner, and he’s pretty sure he has no pressing assignments. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.

Well. There is something that can’t wait until tomorrow. The moment Harry thinks it, he can’t unthink it. In fact, he barely thinks beyond it until he’s at Louis’ door, hand raised to knock.

He’s pretty sure this is Louis’ apartment. Harry knows where Niall lives, and Niall lives with Louis, so there’s little chance of mistake. But still, what if he’s wrong? Or, more likely, what if Louis opens this door and doesn’t want to see him?

He knocks anyway, before he chickens out.

“Harry.” Louis looks surprised when he opens the door, but not outright upset, so he takes that as a good sign.

“Louis,” Harry says tentatively. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Louis opens the door wide and steps aside. “No, come in. Are you okay?” Louis looks cozy, wearing just socks, sweatpants, and a hoodie.

Harry shakes his head, and then realizes that might send the wrong message. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says instead. “I just didn’t see you today.”

He carefully avoids making eye contact with Louis, lest he die of embarrassment. 

“Oh,” Louis says, shutting the door behind him. “You can take off your shoes. Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh, yeah, we stopped on the way back from the beach,” Harry says, toeing off his shoes. He doesn’t know where to look, or how to stop feeling like he’s made a huge mistake. 

“Okay.” Louis then grabs Harry’s arm, forcing Harry to look at him. His eyes are so blue. “Why don’t we sit on the couch then. Was the walk over cold?”

Louis gently guides them to where the couch is, covered in blankets. When Harry sits down, Louis takes a second to grab one of the blankets and open it up, draping it over Harry. 

“It was pretty cold, yeah.” And Harry hadn’t even felt it until now, honestly. Once Louis mentions it, he feels how much the cold has gone down to his bones. He has goosebumps all over his body, and he’s grateful for the warmth the blanket provides. 

Louis laughs. He curls up on the other side of the couch, legs folded in front of him so his knees align with his chin. Harry maneuvers to be doing roughly the same, keeping the blanket wrapped around him. 

“And how was the beach trip?” Louis asks, fiddling with the strings of the oversized hoodie he’s wearing. Harry loves how soft he looks right now. He could stare at him forever. 

“Cold, but good. We got a lot done, and got a lot of hours in,” Harry says. It’ll be his job to keep track of the service hours done today, but that can wait until tomorrow. “How was your day?”

Louis smiles. “It was okay. I tilled the soil in front this morning.”

Harry quirks his mouth. “I don’t know what tilling is.”

“That’s okay, you don’t need to. It’s basically just, like, mixing up all the dirt so it’s loose again,” Louis says. “Hey, did I tell you about the guy I saw fall off his skateboard?” When Harry shakes his head, he continues. “Okay, so I was in the computer lab earlier this week, and you know how there’s a window and you can see right out to that parking lot behind the building? So this guy was practicing some tricks, I guess, but he was _so bad_ at it. He kept trying to like, flip his board, and he failed every time. But then he tries to do it while riding the skateboard, so he skates across the whole parking lot and then tries to do a flip, and absolutely eats shit.” Louis is laughing now, a wide, open-mouth kind of laugh that takes up his whole face. “I know it’s mean but, it was hilarious. I didn’t get any work done.”

Harry laughs along with him. “Today, I was out with Josh at the beach, and it was freezing, right? But he still thought it would be so funny to go stand on some rocks out in the water, like when the tide pulls back for a second. But then the water came back in, and he was stuck out there for ages until the water was shallow enough to come back in. He tripped over some smaller rocks, though, and got a face full of frozen sand.”

“I’m glad you had a good day,” Louis says sincerely, taking Harry by surprise. 

“Thanks. I missed working with you, though.” Harry feels the blush on his face, but Louis doesn’t look upset, or embarrassed. He looks happy. 

“I missed you, too, Haz.” Louis shifts so he’s just that much closer to the center of the couch, but Harry is barely adhering to sides so he’s basically already there. When Louis lets his knees open, so he’s almost sitting criss-cross, his legs knock against Harry’s. Even though there’s no actual contact, thanks to two layers of pants, the spot feels warm, comforting. 

“Tell me about your family,” Harry suggests, instead of any of the other embarrassing suggestions running through his mind. _Touch me, kiss me, hold me, tell me you feel the same_. No. _Tell me about your family_. 

Louis shifts a little. “I don’t know what to tell you. I have a big family, even in just the immediate circle. There’s my mom, and my stepdad. They’re really good together.”

“My mom and stepdad are the same,” Harry interjects. 

“I’m glad. And um, I have five sisters and a brother,” he adds, and Harry’s eyes widen. Louis laughs when he sees his reaction. “I know, I get that a lot. There’s the two oldest, Lottie and Fizz. They’re not twins, but the next two are. Phoebe and Daisy. They’re funny. Really act their age, you know? Can’t wait for high school, and all they do is gossip. And then there’s the littlest twins, Ernest and Doris. They’re just babies really, I hate that I can’t be with them all the time, ‘cus they grow so fast.”

“That’s really sweet, Lou,” the nickname slips out before Harry can stop it. “I just have my older sister, Gemma. Always been the youngest.” He shrugs in attempts to distract from his use of _Lou_. 

“Thanks,” Louis says easily. 

They’re silent for a moment before Harry remembers what had driven him here in the first place. Or, what had spurred him to the beach today that then caused him to show up here. 

“How was your weekend?” he asks, trying to keep his tone light.

Louis shifts, almost a little uncomfortable. Still, it causes more contact as more of Louis’ falls onto Harry. “It was okay. Didn't get much done. I went to DeOm on Friday and didn’t see you.”

“Uh— I mostly just stayed in my room,” he says, not mentioning that when he’d almost gone downstairs, in hopes of finding Louis, he saw Louis was perfectly fine without him.

“That’s too bad,” Louis says. “Funny story, actually—well, not that funny, but I almost hooked up with someone.”

And. _Almost_ hooked up with someone? “Almost? What happened?”

“It was, uh, it was Luke, you know?” Harry nods, not even needing more context since he _saw_ who it was anyway. “And, uh, I just like, copped out, I guess. Sorry, that’s not actually very funny. I was gonna try and make it sound funnier, but I don't know how.” 

He gets a momentary flutter in his chest when he realizes that what he saw that night in the hallway was all that happened. Harry leans in closer. “Why’d you cop out?”

Louis shrugs. “I just realized…I didn’t want to be there, you know?”

Harry hums. “That’s a good reason.”

Laughing, Louis replies, “Thanks, Haz.” Louis ruffles his fringe, pushing it off to the side. “I wish I was more like you.”

What? Cocking his head, Harry asks “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know if you ever wanted me to bring it up,” Louis sighs. “But remember when you told me you hadn’t hooked up with anyone since before you graduated?” Harry nods. “Like I wish maybe I hadn’t hooked up with people so much. Don’t get me wrong, it’s just a handful of people, not all the time, but it’s like I’m waiting for something to stick, and hooking up never seems to make that happen.”

Huh. Well there’s one way to look at it. Harry desperately wants to say _I’ll do it! I’ll stick!_ but that's too much, too soon. It would involve confessing his feelings. 

Instead, he smiles softly at Louis. “No offense, Lou, but that's insane. You’re gonna find someone who sticks. What you’ve done in the past, or do in the future, isn’t gonna change that.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but visibly relaxes. “So you think it’s fine? Like, you’re fine with my hooking up, ignoring the guys after? It’s not a dumb decision?”

He’s asking what _Harry_ thinks? Harry doesn’t know how to tell him he’s fine with anything, everything. “Yeah, of course I think it’s fine.”

“Thanks, I suppose,” Louis says. It’s then that Harry realizes how close they are. Louis’ legs had opened entirely, so one leg is basically on top of Harry’s as they sit with their legs folded beneath them. Louis’ hands are held close to him, but Harry’s holding the blanket still. Loosening his grip, he lets it almost fall away, barely draped over his shoulders. Louis had shifted ever closer to Harry, while Harry himself had done nothing but lean into it. 

“Anytime, Lou,” Harry says, barely above a whisper. He’s not even sure he said it out loud until Louis smiles, a gentle, small smile that shows his teeth and makes the skin by his eyes crinkle. Louis lifts one of his hands up, moving it closer to Harry, and uses his fingers to tuck a stray curl of hair behind Harry’s ear. 

“You’re really something, Harry Styles,” and then he’s moving closer, and so is Harry, but it's barely perceptible. Is this happening? Is something happening? Louis’ index finger grazes Harry’s cheekbones, resting there. 

Harry glances at Louis’ lips, then back up to his eyes. He wants this, and if he’s not wrong, so does Louis. 

He feels his breath hitch, and knows Louis hears it, too. Just inches from each other, and Harry has to stop himself from moving quickly, like he’s going to scare Louis off or something.

“I have dinner!” a voice yells out, Niall, as the door bangs open, and Louis and Harry fly apart. In a second, Louis is firmly back on his side of the couch, and Harry is just sitting in the middle, looking like a fool.

It’s then that Niall notices them. “Oh, hey Harry! You want some food? I bought extra.”

Just like that, whatever was happening is over, and Harry realizes he’s in Louis’ living room, in his shared apartment. Of course they’ve been interrupted. Harry looks around. The lamp by the couch is on, but it only provides a kind of hazy glow. And the walls are nearly bare. 

And it’s a perfectly normal space, even though Harry could have sworn he was in heaven just a minute ago. 

“Yeah, yeah, Niall I could eat. Haven’t made anything yet,” Louis says in a hurry. “What’d you bring?”

“Takeout from that place across from the grocery store,” Niall says as he noisily gets out plates and utensils. 

Louis hops off the couch, but when he’s halfway across the room he looks back. “You coming? I know you said you ate, but…” he trails off.

Harry blinks once, twice. “I’ll stay,” he says. He heaves himself off the couch and joins Louis and Niall in the small kitchen. 

Niall has apparently said something he missed, because Louis is laughing when he sits down at their counter. 

“What were you guys up to?” Niall asks, looking between them. 

Louis fishes some food out of his bowl with a fork, and then glances at him. It’s the briefest of glances, and Harry feels like he’s going insane, but it means something.

“Not much, just talking,” Louis says.

But Harry knows. His mind is telling him whatever happened is a fluke, but at least now he knows Louis feels something, too. 

**

“Are you going?” Zayn asks, staring at the poster tacked up on the bulletin in the cafe.

“Open mic night? Doesn’t sound promising,” Louis says from beside him. He’s just gotten out of class and is once again buying Zayn coffee. The poster says the event is tonight, and Louis actually has most of an essay to write in the next two days, so he’d rather get a head start tonight than be scrambling tomorrow. 

“Liam’s going,” Zayn says, and Louis hums in acknowledgement. Not that important to him, as lovely as Liam is. Louis looks at the notifications on his phone. “And Harry.”

Louis blinks at that. It totally slipped his mind that Liam and Harry were bound to be performing at the open mic night. He looks up from his phone and back at the poster. The open mic night is tonight, but it only goes until eight. That hypothetically leaves him plenty of time to start on his essay when he gets home afterwards.

He tries to sound disinterested when he speaks, even though Zayn already knows he’s gone for Harry. “Well, do you wanna go?”

“Was planning on it,” Zayn replies, and so Louis nods. 

He hasn’t heard from Harry since Sunday night, but it’s only Wednesday. Maybe he’s had a busy week. Either way, ever since that night, Louis has been eager to see him again. Not like he isn’t always eager, but something about Sunday was different. Louis knows the answer. It’s because he and Harry almost kissed. He _swears_. Sure, they were interrupted by Niall, but before then they were having a moment. Like the world had stopped and it was just them.

Part of him feels, though, that it’s all in his head, because there’s been no contact between them since, and Louis doesn’t even know for sure that Harry feels the same way he does. Maybe Louis is just seeing what he wants to see. 

Hopefully tonight will clear some things up. 

“I’ll keep you company,” Louis says, to the tune of Zayn’s mocking laughter. 

**

The open mic night is held in the Cultural Center, which is actually just this semi-large room adjacent to the art building. Whoever is running the open mic night has it set up so that chairs and tables filled most of the room, with a wide open space near the back of the room that served as a quasi-stage. Lights and sound equipment are scattered around the area when Louis and Zayn showed up. 

The room is also fairly full, Louis is surprised to see. It’s not that strange, though, open mic nights are reliably the only student events that draw in a good crowd. He sees a few people he recognizes, but spots Harry and Liam from across the room almost immediately. 

“Hey, guys,” Zayn says as they approach. The two turn. Harry’s holding a guitar. 

“Hey! Good to see you guys here,” Liam tells them. 

“Of course,” Louis says, not quite looking at Harry. “Are you guys sitting somewhere?”

Liam glances around. “Not really, we’re just hanging by the side. We’re going last though.”

Louis nods. Him and Zayn stick around the stage area with Harry and Liam for most of the next hour, watching and subtly judging all the people who go up. Louis ends up standing right next to Harry, which is a good choice, because they get a kick out of making comments about people. 

One guy, who Louis recognizes from the English department, reads a poem where he apparently decided rhyming every line was the most important thing, and the actual words are… a little worrying. 

“Do you think he needs to be like… reported somewhere?” Harry whispers to him. 

Louis holds back a laugh, because he’s not _that_ mean. “Like where? We call Student Health and say we think he might kill someone if left alone?"

Harry starts to laugh lightly. “I’m just saying. He’s gonna grow up to be one of those people who write a crime novel about their own crimes.”

“I didn’t know those people existed.”

"He's going to start the genre," Harry jokes.

The following acts are varying levels of good. Louis doesn’t want to be too harsh, because he knows it takes guts to get up at an open mic night, but people are just too funny. One guy tries too hard to be a rapper but is actually extremely bad at rapping, and Harry has to turn his face into Louis’ shoulder to stop from laughing. Still, he can feel the vibrations of Harry muffling himself, and his body shakes anyway. For the rest of the time, until Harry and Liam get called up, Louis and Harry are attached at the side, their shoulders always touching. They share small looks and playful smiles, and Louis knows he has to talk to him tonight. Really talk to him. 

When Liam and Harry are up, they take a second to adjust the microphones and Harry throws a strap over him so his guitar hangs in front of him. 

When they start, it’s just Liam while Harry accompanies him. But when Harry opens his mouth, Louis feels transported to another world. 

He’s heard Harry’s voice before, talking and singing, but this time it feels different. Maybe because now he knows Harry, he’s not just some voice on a stage. Throughout the short performance, just two songs, Harry looks at Louis. They hardly ever break eye contact, except when Harry seems to remember the audience is bigger than him and does a quick glance over the rest of the room, his gaze always coming back to settle on Louis. 

Louis would have half a mind to feel embarrassed if he wasn’t so captivated. 

When they finish, Louis claps harder than anyone else in the room, despite Zayn’s knowing smirk beside him. 

He turns to Zayn. 

Zayn looks back at him. “Go talk to him.”

Louis glances at Harry and Liam, who are talking to the Student Gov people. Harry’s taken his guitar off, and the way the lighting is shining on them, his white shirt looks almost see-through. Louis feels knots in his stomach. 

As soon as Louis sees an opening, he makes his way towards Harry. He’s still talking with someone by the non-stage, but when they turn away he taps Harry on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. 

Harry turns around, a smile playing on his face. “Hey, Lou.”

“You were really good.” Louis steps closer. He hadn’t left a lot of room to begin with, but he doesn’t feel guilty or anything. He’s been waiting all night, if not days, to have this moment. He brings a hand up and brushes it against Harry’s arm, only the fabric of Harry’s shirt separating them from making actual contact. 

“Thanks, that means a lot.” Harry leans into the touch. “I was really happy to see you here.”

Louis starts to laugh. “Yeah, you didn’t invite me, so. I invited myself.”

Sheepishly, Harry says, “I was hoping you might show up on your own.” Around them, people mingle, while some start to stream out of the room, the event now officially over. 

“Lucky you, then,” Louis says. In a quiet movement, he raises the hand on Harry’s arm to his shoulder, almost grasping the back of his neck. He lets his fingers touch Harry’s skin, finding his curls and playing with them gently. 

Harry moves ever closer, smiling softly. “Lucky me,” he says. “Lou, I—- I wanted to talk about Sunday.”

This is it. This is the moment it all falls into place, here, surrounded by people who aren’t paying any attention to them. Here is where Louis says _I wish I had kissed you_ , and then…. Harry says whatever he needs to say. 

“Yeah?” He toys with Harry’s curls, tugging at one slightly. When he does that, he sees a glimmer in Harry's eyes. Good to know. Hopefully, good to keep in mind. 

“I really thought things were—”

“Hi, Harry!” a voice says from behind Louis. Immediately, Louis jerks back like he’s been shocked, and he feels bad when he sees the smile on Harry’s face fall. 

Behind them is a girl Louis doesn’t recognize, but Harry must, because he musters a grin that Louis can see right through and says, “Hey, thanks for coming!”

“Of course! You were amazing,” she gushes. She’s dressed as if it isn’t winter out, in thin leggings and a tank top. She, no offense intended, looks like a first year student, which makes the glow on her face when she looks at Harry just that much more embarrassing. 

“Thanks! Did you come with anyone?” Harry says easily.

“Just a few friends. So, I have to run, but I was wondering,” she starts, and Louis absolutely takes this as his cue to start backing away. He sees Harry look at him out of the corner of his eye, but he’s too polite to stop the girl to say anything to Louis. “Would you want to get food with me sometime?”

Louis turns on his heel and walks back to Zayn, not looking back to see how the conversation is playing out. 

He feels like a coward as he convinces Zayn to leave with him, but all of a sudden tonight doesn’t feel like the night. The moment wasn’t right, and now he doesn’t know what to do.

**

The rest of the week, Louis spends every waking moment wishing he could text Harry. He ignores the fact that he technically _can_ , but doesn’t. 

In fact, he doesn’t hear from Harry until Sunday morning, when he shows up with two other guys in tow. He recognizes them as Josh and Mitch, but he isn’t clear why they’re here at all.

“Hey,” Louis calls out, a little lackluster. Things obviously haven’t been going his way, what with the open mic night failure, so he’s finding it hard to play excited at the idea of spending time with Josh and Mitch.

“Hey, man!” Josh responds. As they get closer, he continues. “Hope you don’t mind we’re tagging along, we’re a little short on service hours.” Harry stands a little awkwardly beside them when they reach where he is, shifting back and forth on his feet. 

And, yeah, that’s understandable. Volunteering in the garden counts for service hours for the fraternity. That’s why Harry is here, after all, isn’t here? To rack up the hours, bit by bit. 

“Not a problem,” Louis forces out. “Do you guys want a tour?”

Once again, Josh speaks for them. “Yeah! Totally!”

“Can I do it?” Harry says, biting his lip. Louis nods. 

“Go ahead, Styles.”

And so he does. Harry takes them around the now-empty pumpkin patch, the vegetables boxes, the sheds in the back. He looks excited and happy, and Louis feels a tug of endearment in his heart as he watches Harry. 

Harry is wearing soft-looking athletic shorts over what looks like leggings, and two layers of sweaters, a beanie pulled over his head. It’s cold out, Louis will give him that, and he’s dressed warmly, too, but it makes Louis happy that Harry is still coming out every week despite the weather. 

And, best of all, Louis’ heart reminds him, Harry knows the garden like the back of his hand now. He’s giving the small tour exactly how Louis did when Harry first started volunteering. Somehow, one day, without Louis quite realizing it, the little community garden he manages went from being _his_ place to _their_ place. It feels completely right for Harry to be here, giving other people a tour, and completely wrong for other people to be here. 

When Harry’s done, they come back to Louis. 

“Agenda?” Harry asks, looking him in the eyes. Louis looks back, just for a second, before looking at Josh and Mitch. 

“Planting garlic and cover crop.” Louis puts his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Any volunteers for either job?”

“What’s easiest?” Josh asks. 

“Cover crop.” Louis sighs. “You and Mitch can do that, I’ll show you.”

So Louis gets out a large back of clover seeds from the shed and hands it to Mitch. Josh gets a soft rake. Back at the empty patch, Louis instructs them.

“Okay, Mitch, you just take handfuls of the clover seed and toss it over an area.” Mitch does so when Louis motions him to. “Josh, now you just use the rake to mix up the soil so the seeds get a little covered.” Josh does it. “Great, just do that until you’re done. Good?”

They both nod, and so Louis leaves them be and joins Harry when he’s left him by the vegetable beds. 

“Garlic?” Harry says. 

“Yeah, um— it's easy.” Louis opens up the small paper bag of bulbs and motions for Harry to put his palm out. He dumps a few bulbs into Harry’s palms, careful not to spill too many or to get too close to Harry’s hand. “So, I’ll just dig a few holes per row, just a couple inches, and you can put a bulb in, this side up, and then cover it up again.”

Harry nods, but he looks distracted. Louis doesn’t question it, though, just sits the bag of bulbs down next to Harry and starts digging into the numbing soil. Numb might actually do him some good right now, since both he and Harry seem hellbent on avoiding what Louis suspects they’re both thinking. 

“So,” Harry starts, causing Louis to look up. There’s a surprising change of tone in his voice. Where Harry had seemed lighthearted and happy last he spoke, he now sounds nervous. “Are we going to talk?”

“We’ve been talking,” Louis lies. They’ve barely said anything to each other, and it's been nothing of importance. They haven’t _talked_. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. You’ve been avoiding me.”

 _What?_ What right does he have to say that? Louis is taken aback. “I haven’t.”

“You have, though. You left on Wednesday night, and that was it. We were supposed to _talk_ ,” Harry whines. 

Right, like it's all Louis’ fault. Harry could have not talked to that girl, or could have texted him at any point between Wednesday and now. Or, better yet, just shown up at his place like he did last Sunday. Is Louis supposed to feel bad?

“You could have talked to me. If anything, you were avoiding me,” Louis huffs. 

“What?” Harry looks surprised to hear that. “Louis, I put myself out there. Is it so hard to think that I want to see that reciprocated?”

Now it’s Louis’ turn to be surprised. “What are you talking about?”

“Hey, Louis, we’re done here,” Josh calls from behind them, and _shit_ , why are they always interrupted? Can he and Harry not have a single conversation that doesn’t end like this? Louis rolls his eyes where only Harry can see, and then stands up from his squat turns. 

“Great, guys, thanks.” He glances around. “You guys can pick some tomatoes from those plants and then pull them up, if you’d like?”

Mitch and Josh nod, and so Louis gets them a small container to put good tomatoes in. The downside of this is that the tomatoes are right next to the box where Louis and Harry are planting garlic, and so there isn’t a whole lot of room for talking. Instead, the brothers make mindless conversation while Louis digs holes with his fingers in silence. 

“Uh— does everything need to be watered still?” Harry says, bringing Louis out of his own head.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. I haven’t watered today and it hasn’t rained all week,” Louis replies. 

Harry nods. “Mind if Mitch and I water, then?” Louis shakes his head and wonders if this is a deliberate move by Harry to avoid the awkward, stilted silence between them. He wonders what Harry sees when he looks at Louis. Does he still see the same guy he almost kissed just a week ago? Or someone else entirely? 

With Mitch and Harry off on their task, Louis is left alone with Josh, who still wants to make conversation. 

“You’re really cool, you know that,” Josh comments as he plucks tomatoes. He inspects them carefully, as if he’s the semi-expert out of the two of them, and then puts most of them in the plastic container beside him. 

“Thanks, man, same to you,” Louis replies, confused. He’s not lying, he likes Josh well enough and he _is_ cool, but not in a way that Louis feels the need to verbalize to him.

“I know you’re around the DeOm house a lot. You’ve never pledged though, have you?” Josh asks.

He almost laughs. Recruitment. Always on the minds of fraternity men. “Fraternity life just isn’t for me, you might as well save the speech you have planned.”

Josh looks sheepish. “Alright, I don’t need to be told twice. But you are around a lot, right? With Niall and Zayn…” he pauses. “Harry, too.”

Louis looks up at him suspiciously. “Why do you say it like that?”

“What? About Harry?”

“Yeah. I don’t really go see him at the house,” Louis says. Even though he wishes he could. Or that he did. Once again, something he technically can do, but doesn’t. 

“But you guys are friends. And, like, he likes you a lot. It’s obvious,” Josh shrugs, like it's no big deal, like Louis doesn’t almost get whiplash when he says that. 

“What does that mean?” His hands shake slightly as he tries to drop a bulb, and ends up dropping the handful. Cursing, he turns back to the soil and starts to collect the bulbs and reposition the one he’s actually planting at the moment.

“It’s not like he says it, but you guys are… weird,” Josh says. “We all see it.”

“We are _not_ weird,” Louis says defensively. He looks around to make sure Harry and Mitch aren’t in earshot. They’re over by the wildflowers, though, and Harry’s laughing loudly about something. It’s a throw-your-head-back kind of laugh, one that shows all his teeth and makes his eyes close. Louis swallows harshly before continuing. “We’re not weird. We’re just….”

“Something else?” Josh interrupts. 

Louis blinks rapidly, and nods. “Something else.”

Sighing, Josh tells him, “Look, it’s not my business, but you like him right? Like, as more than a friend?” Louis confirms it with a jerk of his head. “So why don’t you do something? It’s obvious he feels the same.”

“Is it obvious?” Louis asks. If anything, he can’t work out what is going through Harry’s head. Nothing feels obvious from where he’s sitting. 

“To me, it is,” Josh says simply. Louis doesn’t respond, and he likes the silence they exist in while Josh plucks tomatoes and Louis finishes up the garlic. Harry and Mitch rejoin them when they’re done, and Louis sets them to weeding until it's noon. 

**

Louis is startled when he hears a knock at the door. He snaps his head from where he’s been staring at his phone, contemplating texting Harry. But he doesn’t even know what he would say, he doesn’t know where to start. 

As far as he knows, Oli and Niall are out and shouldn’t be back until later, so it only makes sense when he opens the door and Harry is there, holding a large plate covered in foil. He looks perfect, in tight jeans and a thick coat, a beanie concealing his forehead. He smiles nervously, shifting back and forth on his feet.

Louis is sure he looks surprised, so he tries to change his expression into something more welcoming. 

“Hey, Haz.”

“Uh—- hey, Louis. Um, second week in a row?” Harry says, biting his lip. _Right_ , Louis thinks. Last Sunday Harry did this same thing, and look where that got them. 

“Do you want to come in?” Louis asks, stepping aside. Harry steps in and messily toes off his shoes, puking his beanie off while he’s at it and dropping it on the floor. His curls shake as he stumbles, struggling to keep the plate balanced. “Did you, did you bring food?”

“I baked, actually,” Harry says, holding the plate out. Louis takes it and turns, leading them to the kitchen counter. “They’re banana and chocolate muffins,” he says as Louis unwraps the plate. “It’s okay if you don’t like them.”

Louis looks up, his gaze softening. “Thank you, Harry.” Harry preens. “I’m sure they’re lovely.”

“I think they’re pretty good,” Harry says sheepishly. 

“Why did you bake?” Louis asks. He moves around the counter to pull to tall chairs over so they can sit. When Louis sits, Harry scoots his chair ever closer to sit, their knees touching. 

Harry lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry for avoiding you.”

Louis grimaces. “You weren’t avoiding me.”

“I _was_ , though,” Harry emphasizes, pushing his hands against his face. “I avoided you when I skipped out last Sunday and then I felt bad so I came over, and then I was avoiding you today, too.” 

Louis hesitates before answering Harry. Every answer that runs through his head feels too vulnerable to say, but he settles on, “I missed you last Sunday,” which feels like the equivalent of ripping his heart out and giving it to Harry. Messy, bloody, ugly. 

“I missed you, too.” Harry lets out a long sigh. “You know, I’ve been volunteering for months now and I still don’t know why we have a community garden.”

Content, Louis answers. This is a question he’s deeply familiar with, and it also takes them out of vulnerable territory. “Someone decided to start one twenty years ago.”

“But… why?”

Louis gives a soft smile. This is his favorite answer. “I mean— right there in the name. Community. No one has to be good at it, we hire people like me who have never gardened a day in their life before taking the job, but I learned anyway. And the hope is that other people come in and find community, too.”

“No one really comes in, though,” Harry points out. 

“You did,” Louis says. “And we met. And we became friends. That’s already building community.”

“It’s just me, Louis.”

“Isn’t one person enough?” Louis asks. Then, he laughs lightly. “Are you saying you’re not worth my time?”

Backtracking, Harry says, “No! Of course not. I hope I’m worth your time. I want to be worth your time.”

“You are,” Louis whispers. “It doesn’t have to be some grand thing with tons of people, just you is enough.”

All of a sudden, he’s aware that he’s not just talking about a community garden, and he hopes Harry doesn’t know. Judging by the way his expression shifts, eyes softening and mouth quirking into a smile, Harry has had a similar thought.

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says. The nickname does something to Louis, even though it's not the first time Harry has used it. Something about it invokes this feeling of familiarity, or the hope of it. One day, Harry and him could be familiar with each other, in a way they aren’t now. Now, they’re awkward and messy and Louis, at least, is terrified of it all. 

“I’m sorry for avoiding you, too,” Louis ends up saying, remembering why Harry had shown up to begin with. 

“How about we just agree we were both dumb, okay?” Harry says. “I really like being your friend, Louis. I’m sorry I almost ruined it.”

And— _what_? Everything Harry has just said is antithesis to what Louis was thinking. Where he thinks they’re going. Harry ruined _nothing_ , and now he’s saying he likes being _friends_ with Louis? 

For the last week, Louis could have sworn he and Harry were going somewhere past the realm of friends. Between the almost kiss and the almost conversation at the open mic night, not to mention his conversation with Josh today, everything pointed to it. And, what, now he’s supposed to ignore all that and do... nothing?

“You’re fine, you’re completely fine,” Louis assures him. They’re friends. That’s okay, he tells himself. 

“Good.”

Louis then recalls their conversation they’d had earlier. “What did you mean today when you said you put yourself out there?” And Harry had said something about reciprocity. 

Laughing lightly, Harry says, “Nothing, forget it.” As he says it, Harry nudges his knee into Louis’s leg playfully. 

He narrows his eyes. “If you say so, Styles.” He turns his attention to the plate of muffins in front of him. He remembers Harry never quite answered his initial question, so he repeats, “Why’d you bake, anyway?”

“I’m good at it, if I do say so myself,” Harry says. “My mom and I used to bake together a lot growing up, so now I like to do it for other people.”

“You bake for all the boys, do you?” Louis asks jokingly. 

Harry sticks his tongue out at him, childishly. “Just you is enough, Louis,” Harry says, echoing Louis’ own words from minutes before. 

“Why don’t you become a baker, if you’re so good at it?” Louis moves to put his elbow on the kitchen counter, resting his chin in his hand.

“I actually used to work in a bakery in high school,” Harry says, his eyes lighting up. “But I could never do the early mornings. I think I like sleeping too much.”

That’s something he and Louis can agree on. His mind goes back to the night he’d slept in Harry’s bed, waking up before him and getting a glimpse of what he looks like in the early morning light. “And you could never drink too much the night before.”

“Right!” Harry waves his arms, like Louis has just struck gold with his response. “A hangover would suck at five in the morning. It might not even be a hangover by then, I might still be drunk.”

Louis giggles. “So then why be a Math major? And a Music major? How do you go from baking to that?”

Harry looks thoughtful for a second. “Both are kind of like puzzles. Have you ever heard someone say that cooking is an art, but baking is a science?”

Louis nods, unsure of where Harry is going with this. 

“Well,” Harry continues. “I think math and music are a science, too. Just like everything needs to be exactly right in baking, everything has to be right in math. There’s usually just the one answer, but getting to it is like finding all the right pieces and putting the puzzle together just right.”

“And music?” Louis asks. He doesn’t entirely understand what Harry is saying, but he’s having such a good time watching him that it almost doesn’t matter. Harry’s eyes get a little wild, though, and he talks with a constant smile. It’s so clear whatever he’s saying, he’s thought about it, and believes it. 

“Same thing. Every note has to be right. If you’re creating a piece, a song, every little bit counts. And in the end, everything comes together to form the bigger picture. Like a puzzle.”

Louis hums in acknowledgement. “So you like puzzles, is what I’m getting from this.”

Harry’s face scrunches as he grins. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Laughing, Louis says, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry shrugs. “Whatever you want it to mean.”

Is Louis a puzzle to Harry? All these pieces, and does he know how to put them together? Is he just waiting around to see if he can do it? Louis wonders what Harry is seeing right now, looking at him. He hasn’t been able to figure it out at any other time but the puzzle thing might give him some sense. 

“You were really good on Wednesday,” Louis says, even though he’s pretty sure he’s already told that to him. And that other people, doubtlessly, have told him the same thing as well. Like that girl that had interrupted them. “But I’m sure people have told you that.”

Harry furrows his brows. “Is this about that girl on Wednesday? Before you left?”

Louis rolls his eyes. It sounds so immature when Harry says it out loud. 

“Look, it was seriously nothing. I’m sorry she interrupted us, but it just happens to me sometimes,” Harry says. 

“You’re modest.”

“I know it sounds egotistical! But I swear, it’s just like... freshman girls. They do it to Liam, too,” Harry stresses. Louis is pretty sure Liam is taken, so it probably happens far less to him, but he lets Harry say it anyway.

“And you just reject them all? Heartbreaker you are?” Louis says. He uses his foot to gently kick Harry’s shin, in a manner he hopes is joking. He doesn’t want the conversation to be too serious. 

Harry gives him a condescending look. “Of course I do. I’m really bad at it, though.”

Louis flashes him a cheeky grin. “Are you now?”

“Seriously, I am! It’s just so awkward, you know?” Harry says. Louis wouldn’t know, though. He hasn’t exactly got a line of freshmen waiting to ask him out, and Louis doesn’t exactly get rejected when he tries to get with someone. “I don’t want to hurt their feelings or anything but… they’re really not my type.”

That catches Louis’ attention. “What is your type, then?”

Harry blushes, deeply and obviously. Louis is all the more infatuated with him for it. 

“Boys I bake for,” Harry says with an easy shrug, avoiding eye contact. 

Louis can feel himself go flush, though he hopes it doesn’t show too much. “You’re funny. I bet you say that to all the boys,” he says, lamely repeating his own joke from earlier. He ignores that Harry had told him he hadn’t hooked up since high school and that he turns down a lot of people. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he has very little idea about Harry’s dating history. Just the bare bones. He also thinks maybe the bare bones is all there is to it.

They spend the next few hours talking and laughing lightly, neither one approaching any serious or vulnerable topics, which Louis is grateful for. He doesn’t really know what they are now, with the almost-kiss and the conversations and the drop that _Louis_ is apparently who Harry thinks of when he thinks of his type. But it’s okay. Louis doesn’t feel the need to wonder what Harry is seeing right now. He’s content to just be, be himself and be with Harry, in the moment. Maybe dating Harry doesn’t even need to be an option. Louis is content as is, why mess with that? Friends is enough. 

Besides, they have time.

**

“ _Ugh_ ,” Harry groans, scrolling on his laptop. 

Nearby, Liam hums, asking for more information. They’re in the Chapter room of the house, Liam sat at a table working on something for school while Harry spreads out on a couch, desperately trying to work on his position within the fraternity. 

“A bunch of guys still don’t have enough hours for the semester, unless they’ve volunteered somewhere and just haven’t told me,” Harry says. 

“Okay? Tell them they need to go volunteer somewhere,” Liam replies.

“Not that easy,” Harry says. Liam’s position in the fraternity is to record minutes from important meetings, so it makes sense he doesn’t know everything Harry has to do for his position. Why had he run for Community Service Chair, again? Right, the dumb competition between Delta Omicron and the other fraternities for most service hours. Honestly, he’s not sure how invested the brothers are in actually doing service, or if they just want to prove that being a smaller fraternity doesn’t mean they can’t do the same work as other chapters. He’s mostly stayed out of it, except that he has to keep finding service opportunities for the brothers. There’s only so many times a week that a local food bank or elementary school or nursing home needs volunteers. He can also plan things like beach clean ups, but those are hard to get off the ground most of the time, especially as the weather grows colder.

It occurs to him he could send some of the brothers to volunteer with Louis, and though he’d brought Josh and Mitch last week, that was less about getting them more hours and more about not being alone with Louis that morning.

“I think the Religion department is having an event soon,” Liam says. “Some brothers could volunteer there. Set up, clean up, that kind of thing?”

That’s not actually a bad idea, Harry realizes. He pulls up the page on the university website for the department, finding the email of the department head and starting an email to her, asking if she’s looking for volunteers. 

“Thanks, man,” Harry remembers to say. 

“Not a problem.” Liam goes back to his work. Harry looks at him for a second. 

“Hey, Li?”

Liam looks up again, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

“What do you think of Louis?” Harry asks.

“Louis?” Liam looks confused, so Harry nods, confirming his words. “He seems like a good guy. He showed up last week when we performed, right? That was good of him.”

Harry hums. “I really like him.” He mindlessly types more words for his email, more to emphasize his casualness rather than to actually write anything. The email is mostly done, anyway. Nothing fancy. 

Liam laughs in one, short burst. “Well, that’s clear.” Harry glares at him a bit. He doesn’t want it to be clear. 

“What do I do?”

Liam shrugs. “Well, I mean, you don’t really date, do you? So is that what you want from Louis?” Harry nods. “Then, tell him that. Ask him out.”

“What if I’m scared?” Harry asks. He gives up the pretense of writing an email, or doing anything on his laptop, and shuts it, placing it on a table next to him. He turns his head to look at Liam more directly, an angle that’s better on his neck.

Liam sighs. It’s a classic Liam sigh, in Harry’s opinion. It mostly occurs when Harry is being dumb, which happens more often in the presence of Liam than with anyone else. 

“That’s okay, but don’t you think Louis might be scared, too?” Liam scribbles something in a notebook and then stands up, moving to sit on the table nearest Harry. He looks intently at him. 

“Assuming he feels the same,” Harry points out. Liam rolls his eyes. Not in a mean way, in a way that says he’s deeply familiar with putting up with Harry and all his worries. All his overthinking. 

Liam responds with, “He does. I think everyone in any room you two are in can see it.”

Harry lets out an exasperated sigh. He doesn’t trust this idea of other people being able to see how Harry feels, or how Louis feels. They see what they want to see. And Harry, on the other hand, has no idea what he sees. When he looks at Louis, he doesn’t see clearly returned feelings. He sees…he doesn’t know what he sees. A puzzle, of sorts, though half of that puzzle has to do with how Harry feels and what Louis _makes_ him feel. The other half though, just sees Louis, and all the things he knows and doesn’t know, all fitting together into one person. A person he is head over heels for, currently. 

It’s quite a thing to see.

“I’m still scared,” Harry says. 

Liam bites his lip, thinking. “Harry, I can’t give you one, right answer. But…you deserve to be happy, and it’s okay to be scared. Being scared maybe even means that whatever you’re doing is worth something. Putting yourself out there, being vulnerable about your feelings is never gonna stop being scary, but that isn’t a good enough reason not to do it. The rewards reaped from being open and honest and saying something even if you’re scared is what makes life worth living. You know what I mean?”

His words give Harry reason to pause. It’s a beautiful sentiment, and not one he expected to be on the receiving end of today. Swiftly, he gets up on the couch and pulls Liam into a hug, as best he can from how they’re situated, Liam remaining seated. 

He holds him for a minute and a beat, burying his face in Liam’s neck. It takes a second, but Liam reciprocates the hug, bringing his arms around Harry.

When Harry finally pulls back, he says, “You’re the best brother.”

And that’s what it is, isn’t it? Liam is his brother, no questions about it. It’s moments like these he remembers why he’s in a fraternity, and the bond he shares with the men around him. It’s brotherhood, plain and simple. 

**

After last Sunday, Louis and Harry are good. It definitely marked a new phase in their friendship, relationship, whatever. Suddenly, Harry is texting him all the time, about the most mundane things. A funny customer at work. A good grade he got on a particularly difficult assignment. When he falls down the stairs at the DeOm house. He texts these things less like he wants a response from Louis, but more like he just wants to _tell_ Louis. Tell Louis anything. 

Yet, Louis responds in kind. He hopes he says all the right things to Harry’s texts, celebrating his good grade with the appropriate emojis, and asking if he’s okay after his fall down the stairs. In addition, he starts texting Harry all the mundane things from his life. His displeasure at the torrent of rain that falls one day when Louis works that causes his hands to go numb and his sneakers to squelch when he walks home. The awful meal Oli makes for dinner one time. Even the picture he attaches looks bad, and Harry responds by offering to cook him dinner sometime. Louis doesn’t respond to that one so much that he plays it off like a joke. Harry cooking for him sounds too much like a date, and he doesn’t dare to take that seriously. 

Despite that, he and Harry are undeniably in some strange limbo past friendship. Though they’re friends, and becoming close friends very rapidly at that, sometimes they move around each other strangely, just the wrong side of tense. Not quite relaxed in each other’s presence. Louis knows that, on his end at least, it's because of what he doesn’t say. He doesn’t say Harry looks beautiful, he doesn’t tuck his curls behind his ear, doesn’t ask him what they are, what they’re doing, and if Louis is ever going to get to kiss him. Because that’s not what Louis is doing anymore. Now, he’s being friends with Harry. He can’t speak for what Harry’s doing. 

Another new thing they’ve started doing is coffee. They figured out they both have a free half hour between class blocks three mornings a week, and so now they meet at Harry’s place of work and get a drink together, walking in the direction of the buildings they’re going to. 

He doesn’t know if Harry normally drinks this much coffee, but he leans towards no. Louis knows for a fact he himself doesn’t normally drink this much coffee. For now, he’s still working through Niall’s regifted gift card, but unless Niall plans on getting him another one for his next birthday, he’s going to run out soon. He, admittedly, doesn’t know how much money was on there to begin with, so each time he goes to pay for his coffee he fears he’ll be out of funds. 

It’s Friday now, and honestly Louis doesn’t have class on Fridays, but most math classes fall onto a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule so this is the free time he has the first two days that Harry also has today. He doesn’t know if Harry is aware that Louis doesn’t actually have class now, but he doesn’t outright mention it. They’ve been doing this routine for a few weeks now, and December starts next week, so it’s really only a few more weeks of the semester. No harm if Louis keeps up the routine until final exams, right?

Louis is already in line when Harry arrives at the coffee shop, but it’s not very busy and so Harry is able to join Louis in line without having to cut anyone. They order as they usually do. Harry, oddly enough, doesn’t add much to his coffee. On the other hand, Louis has started getting lattes, because he really is much more of a tea person but he doesn’t trust any coffee shop employee to make his tea right. He also still hasn’t figured out if they even offer tea on their menu. 

The wait is quick, and soon they’re clutching their warm drinks as they exit, being hit suddenly by the biting autumn-almost-winter air. Harry takes a deep breath, as if he can internalize the cool air. Louis, on the other hand, tugs his scarf tighter around his neck. 

Both of them are very appropriately bundled up. Harry’s still in his skintight black jeans, whereas Louis has opted for warmer jogger-type pants. But they both have sweaters and coats on, a beanie on over Harry’s hair and a scarf itching Louis’ neck. 

Around them, the ground is scattered with wet autumn leaves, a mosaic of red, orange and yellow that make campus seem brighter than it really is on this bleak day. Though, he had to admit, campus always seems brighter when he’s walking this close to Harry.

Harry’s currently complaining about DeOm. Their elections are soon, and Harry’s still conflicted about what positions he wants to run for, let alone what he might actually want to _do_ next semester. 

“People keep telling me to run for President, but I really don’t want to do that until next year. I was thinking about going for House Manager, though,” Harry drawls. Louis, for one, thinks he would make a great president, but he supposed it makes sense to wait until his final year to take on the highest position. “Wouldn’t that be cool? I get to organize all the chore charts, and schedule the start-of-semester safety inspections. I could buy new furniture! I think I collect housing payments, too. It’s less work than Service Chair, so I’d be doing less, but I’d have more seniority.”

“That sounds great, Haz. You should go for it,” Louis says. Harry lights up when Louis says that, looking at him with a wide smile. 

“You really think so?”

“Of course.” Louis nudges him gently with his shoulder. “You’re really responsible and stuff. Sounds right up your alley.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says. Someone Louis doesn’t recognize calls out Harry’s name, and so Harry’s momentarily distracted while he responds with a greeting as they walk past the stranger. 

They’re entering a narrow brick walkway with low-hanging trees, heading towards a fairly isolated part of campus. This is Louis’ favorite part of the walk over. Just for a few minutes, he feels like he and Harry are alone despite the noise and the fact that they clearly aren’t. 

“Who was that?” Louis asks.

Harry takes a long sip of his coffee, finally cool enough to drink, and says, “Girlfriend of one of my brothers. She hangs around the house a lot.”

Louis nods. “That’s cool.”

“Last week she taught me how to make enchiladas,” Harry says.

“Is that the dinner you’d make me?” Louis asks, but immediately regrets. It feels like it crosses a line, especially since he was trying to be just friends with Harry.

Harry, though, doesn’t seem to pick up on Louis’ regret. Instead, he laughs. “I’d make something I’m better at, I think. I’m a real novice at enchiladas so far.”

“You talk slowly, did you know that?” Louis says, obviously not responding to the topic of dinner. 

Harry laughs loudly in response, though, so it’s okay. “I’ve been told that, yeah. I hope it’s not a deal breaker.”

Always here. They always circle back to something vaguely flirty. 

“Being a slow talker?”

Harry nudges him with the arm not holding his drink, winking playfully. “No, being a sweet talker.”

Louis’ face scrunches as he tries not to laugh. “You’re not funny.” But part of him lights up inside, his heart feeling like it’s going to burst out of his chest. He takes a sip of his latte in an attempt to ground himself. 

It’s weird how they both seem to know something is going on, but they have no name for it. Sometimes, Louis is sure it's just on his end, and other times he doesn’t know what to think. Harry, though he’d declared them friends those few weeks ago, seems to be awfully intent on making his stomach swoop and his mind fuzzy for someone who isn’t flirting with him. 

“You think I’m hilarious,” Harry shoots back, adjusting his beanie and then tucking his free hand in his coat pocket. 

“You should come to my party,” Louis says. He hadn’t actually been intending to ask Harry right now, though he was going to eventually, but the words are out before he can think them through.

“Your party?” Harry raises his eyebrows.

“For my birthday. It’s before winter break and before finals week,” Louis explains. “Everyone’s going to be apart for the break so Niall thought we’d celebrate early.”

“Uh, sure I’ll come. Who’s going?” Harry asks. 

“Everyone. Anyone. I’m not actually sure who Niall has texted about it,” Louis shakes his head. It’s less his party, and more Niall’s party that Louis is the excuse for. “But it’s at my apartment. So not that big. We promise we’ll have good drinks, though.”

Harry looks hesitant for some reason. “Are you sure you want me there? I don’t think Niall texted me.” 

Louis furrows his brows, sipping his drink some more. “Doesn’t matter. I’m the birthday boy, aren’t I?” Harry still looks unsure though, so he adds, “Please? I really want you there.”

They’re leaving the private walkway, back to seeing people nearby. He hears the shouting of other students nearby, the bustling courtyard they’ve entered into full of people coming and going from classes, meetings, whatever. 

“Then of course I’ll be there.” 

**

“This party is gonna be sick!” Niall says in the grocery store as he grabs bags of snacks and then heads towards the alcohol. He gives the cart a hard push and then lifts his feet up as it moves, like a child. Louis shakes his head as he trails behind him. 

“It’s still a week away, not sure why we’re shopping for it now,” Louis says when they finally reach their destination. Niall stands in front of the shelves of wine and hard liquor, cases of beer in the fridges behind him. 

“What do you want to drink?” Niall asks, instead of addressing what he’d said. Louis surveys the same shelves Niall is looking at. The apartment had agreed to split the costs of alcohol, and they were debating charging for shots and things like that, but given that Louis is the only one who’s currently twenty-one, the initial burden of paying for it all is on him. 

“Whatever is cheapest,” Louis says. 

Shrugging, Niall starts to grab a few things, but Louis has no idea what. 

“Man, are you okay?” Niall asks as he delicately dumps a few bottles into their cart. “You’re out of it today.”

He thinks that's probably true. In fact, he’d been thinking about something Harry had said last week as they walked. He’d said that the girl they’d run into was the girlfriend of one of his _brothers_. Louis obviously knew he meant one of his fraternity brothers, since, in terms of blood family, Harry only had a sister. But, Harry hadn’t specified that. If Louis had been someone else, someone who didn’t know Harry only had a sister or that he was in a fraternity, then that detail wouldn’t have been obvious.

It’s strange, because he can’t pinpoint why it bothers him. Or why he feels weird about it, actually. It isn’t bad, but it left Louis pondering once again what that bond is. Harry had said it so easily, like the distinction between fraternity brother and actual brother didn’t really matter. Louis has no idea what that felt like. How does one even develop that sense of found family? All Louis has is his actual family. And he loves them, he really does, more than anything, but half of that is because they are the family he’s always known. How could he not love his little sisters, for instance?

But to develop that same feeling, that same sentiment, for entirely new and unrelated people, and to reaffirm that bond so frequently, is alien to him.

It makes him wonder about his friendships. To Niall, to Zayn. His closest friends. They were DeOm brothers, too, weren’t they? Did they experience that same inexplicable, brotherly bond with the other DeOm brothers that Harry did? And if so, where did that leave him? Just a friend, not a brother. Always second in the ranking. 

Is that what Niall or Zayn saw when they looked at him? Not a brother? Louis doesn’t even know how he feels about them in return. They’re his best friends, and he loves them, but he’s never thought of them as his brothers. So why should it bother him if they feel the same?

He doesn’t tell Niall any of this. Instead he replies with, “I’m mourning my temporary loss of funds after I pay for all this shit.” He gestures to the stack of beers Niall has moved on to putting in the cart. 

Niall gives him a wild-eyed look. “I just want to be prepared.”

Louis laughs, a little forced but mostly affectionate. “You’re paying me back as soon as you get paid.”

**

Zayn flicks the cigarette he’s holding between his fingers. They’re seated at a table in the middle of a grassy courtyard, since Zayn can’t smoke within twenty-five feet of a campus building. Louis groans quietly and stares at the blank document in front of him. Zayn has given up the pretense of work. That, or he’s done with whatever he set out to work on today he already finished while Louis was at work this morning. Louis had barely had time to get coffee with Harry and go to his next class this morning, whereas Zayn only has evening classes today. 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Harry recently,” Zayn says nonchalantly. Louis looks up long enough to glare at him before attempting to write an introduction paragraph. 

“What does that mean?”

Zayn scoffs. “It means what it means. He comes back to the house a lot from class saying you guys got coffee. Or he comes in and forgets to say hello because he’s too busy staring at his fuckin’ phone, texting _you_ , obviously.”

“Why’s it obvious?” Louis asks, typing nonsense. He clicks over to the tab for his school email, looking at all the useless emails that get sent to him daily.

“He always has a stupid smile on his face.”

Louis flushes, refusing to look up. “So what if we’ve been spending time together?”

Zayn shrugs. “You two used to not. Like the first few months of the year. Something changed, is all.”

Sighing, he looks up at Zayn, who still looks as bored and disinterested as when he started the conversation. It’s probably fake, though. It’s something Louis thinks he does when he wants to talk about something but doesn’t want to come on too strong. Louis is immune though, because he knows what it looks like. It looks like Zayn taking a drag, blowing smoke into the air, and keeping his gaze upwards towards the empty tree branches. 

“We talked a bit. We’re friends,” Louis says simply. The words don’t hurt so much, anymore. Friends. It had only been a short period of time that he thought they might be more, anyway.

“You guys aren’t friends,” Zayn guffaws, coughing through his words. “You’re like two seconds from becoming Couple Of The Year.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that’s happening any time soon.”

“Why not?” Zayn asks. 

“We’re friends,” Louis repeats, slouching his shoulders. “That’s, um, that’s it.”

Zayn shakes his head. “That’s not it. You’re scared, aren’t you?”

“I’m not scared.”

“You are. Because you’re like, master at only having hookups when you want to, or going on one date and then ditching. You don’t wanna ditch Harry,” Zayn says pointedly. 

How does he do that? In a second, Zayn had somehow found the heart of the issue when Louis’ mind had been circling it for weeks. Never admitting it, but always right around the corner from it. 

“And if Harry wants to ditch me?” Louis asks. 

“He doesn’t!” Zayn cries, suddenly invested in the conversation. He seems fed up with Louis. “Oh my fucking god, he doesn’t. Do you think he shows up at your work each week because he enjoys it? Last week he came back to the house soaked to the bones.” It had rained particularly hard during work last week, Louis recalls. “He was freezing for the rest of the day. And he never buys coffee! We have a coffeemaker in our kitchen, and it’s a hell of a lot cheaper than overpaying for coffee every other day just so he can see you.”

So both Louis and Harry are, in fact, drinking more coffee than they usually would, and buying it from the coffee shop when they normally would not, in order to spend time together. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Louis says. 

Zayn sighs, shaking his head. He squashes his cigarette into the table and puts it into a cloth bag to throw away later. “So what if he ditches you, Louis? So what if he’s spent this whole semester becoming your friend and seeking you out just to ditch you?”

Louis looks at him, exasperated and confused.

Zayn continues after seeing his expression. “So what? I don’t think that’s an excuse to not tell him how you feel. Seriously, Louis. Are you gonna go through life, never telling people how you feel, just because it might not turn out how you want it to? You’re never gonna get the chance to know how things turn out if you live like that.”

He’s right. Of course he is. 

“So I should tell him?” Louis asks for clarification. 

Zayn gives him a look that says, _Obviously_. “Yes, you idiot.”

Louis is quiet for a few minutes, staring intently at his screen, clicking back to his blank document. Zayn is right. Louis knows this. And, really, he’s known Harry for less than a semester. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if things didn’t work out. If Harry ditched him, if he didn’t return his feelings. Sure, he might have to start avoiding the DeOm house, but maybe he’d make friends with one of the other fraternities and start partying there, at least until he was over Harry. 

It also makes sense that Louis is afraid. It seems hypocritical to worry that someone might just want him for a hookup, or might lose interest so quickly, when Louis has done that his fair share of times. But he never does it to people like Harry. People who make him feel the way Harry does. Of course, he’s never felt quite this way towards anyone, so that’s already new. 

“Thank you,” he finds himself saying, much to his own surprise. Zayn must be surprised, too, because he looks up, startled. 

All he says is, “Anything for you.”

**

Louis stares at the scene in front of him. It really isn’t his party, and it shows. Niall dug up Christmas decorations from somewhere, maybe a local thrift store or maybe he just actually already owned them, and is using them as makeshift birthday decorations instead. Basically, his supposed birthday party was a mess of Christmas lights and snowflake stickers strewn on the walls. He thinks possibly Niall hung a wreath on their door with tape. 

The overhead lights are off, so it’s dark all around, and their apartment is packed. The only light source is a few lamps and a light machine in the corner. The music is playing from a speaker that belongs to Oli, going through a playlist of dance remixes. It’s more than awful to listen to if one is sober. Louis takes a second to feel sympathy for their neighbors, even though some of them are far more noisy and have parties with obnoxious frequency. 

Louis doesn’t even know who all has been invited. He sees plenty of DeOm brothers, like Josh on the couch, along with a smattering of significant others, people he’s met in classes, and then a good amount of people who clearly are just along for the ride. Likely Niall didn’t make this a closed party. 

Their kitchen counter is overrun with bowls of snacks and bottles stacked to one side. Oli had taken to playing server for the night, dutifully handing out shots and glasses of bright mixes. In the end, they had decided it would be too much work to charge people for individual drinks, so they mostly just asked everyone to Venmo Louis a few bucks, hopefully equivalent to whatever they drink tonight. Already Louis has a long string of notifications, and he doesn’t recognize at least half the usernames. Someone must have written his account name down somewhere visible, otherwise Louis doesn’t know how these people are able to send him money. 

Despite all this, Louis is still sober. The party has been going for a few hours now, but somehow, Louis isn’t much in the mood. He feels like he’s behind a wall of glass, observing everything from his place in the kitchen like he isn’t even really here. 

He doesn’t know why he feels this way, except that maybe it’s because the only person _he_ invited is nowhere to be seen. Everywhere he looks, and no Harry. No Liam, either, which is strange since most of the other DeOm brothers are here. It makes Louis certain that wherever Harry is, Liam is with him. 

Louis is feeling a little warm, even in his thin grey sweater, but he doesn’t want to make the effort to go and change, even though it might be nicer at the back of the apartment. Their bathroom was free reign, obviously, but they’d closed all the bedroom doors to discourage people from entering them. Thus, the back hallway is the emptiest area in the apartment. 

He sips his drink mechanically, mostly because he knows he’ll feel better once he’s less sober. Maybe then he could take his mind off Harry. He grimaces when he takes a long swig of alcohol. Niall is many things, but a master at drink mixing he is not. It’s a gross combination of what he thinks is cranberry juice, rum, and vodka. Maybe with a bit of grenadine. He would rather not know what inspired this particular concoction. It’s obviously not his usual go-to drink, but Niall had made it and insisted he have it. If he didn’t know better, he'd guess Niall was trying to get out of getting him a real present. Not that it matters. He kind of wants another gift card.

He sees people shuffling by the door, and he turns his head in time to see it open, Harry and Liam slinking in at last. 

Part of him sighs in relief. 

Another part of him wants to immediately go over, spend the rest of the night with Harry, and ignore everyone else. That’s not a good idea, though. Probably best to keep on enjoying the party and wait to see if Harry finds him. He’ll let Harry call the shots, he decides. 

He takes a long sip from his drink, nearly choking on it, and then turns his gaze away from where Harry has been quickly roped into conversation with someone. 

Who he runs into is Niall, who looks quite the opposite of Louis. That is to say, very drunk. 

“Louis!” Niall cries, coming to a stop in front of him. “Having a good time yet?”

Louis smiles meekly. “Great time.”

“You look like you’re lying,” Niall says. Damn him, he’s perceptive even when trashed. 

“I’m fine _now,_ how's that?” Louis says. He spares a glance back to where he last saw Harry, but he’s gone. 

“I just want you to have a good time!” Niall whines. It sounds so childish, but Louis is endeared all the same. “This is for _you_.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows at him skeptically. “It’s really not, but I appreciate it all the same.”

Niall fixes him with a cold, unending stare, raising on hand and placing it on Louis’ shoulder. “It’s all for you! How could you think otherwise? You’re my brother!”

His words surprise Louis. He blinks rapidly. “Thanks, Ni. I’ll… go have a good time.”

This makes Niall grin, and before Louis can say more, he’s gone. Louis is still lurching from Niall’s words. _Brother_. Why did Niall say it? Was it just the inebriation, or something more truthful? 

Louis shakes his head, because he doesn’t really want to think about it now. He wanders over to a cluster of chairs where he recognizes Perrie, fellow English major, and a few other women. When Perrie spies him, she stands up and hugs him tightly, as if they’ve been friends for years rather than friendly classmates for a few semesters. 

“Louis! So good to see you. Happy Birthday!” She cries. 

“Thanks Perrie,” Louis says as he perches against a table. “But I’ve still got a few more weeks. Christmas baby, you know how it is.”

Some of the girls Perrie is with nod sympathetically, though it would be a huge coincidence if any of them did actually share a birthday with him. 

“Well, we’re celebrating tonight,” Perrie says, sitting down again. “I haven’t seen you, like, all semester. I miss having classes with you.”

Louis smiles at that. He forgets all the casual friends he has. “I miss it, too. Literature just isn’t the same without you.”

Perri throws her head back laughing. One of the other girls suddenly waves her hand. “Hi, I’m Jade. I’m not sure we’ve met.”

Her hair is long and brown, down to her waist almost, and she has kind eyes and a shy smile. “Not sure we have, but, welcome to my party, I suppose,” Louis jokes. 

The other girls introduce themselves as well. Jesy and Leigh-Anne, who both seem equally as nice and fun as Perrie and Jade. Through listening to their conversation, and asking a few questions, he learns they all met during sorority recruitment their freshman year and had been close ever since. He’s even more surprised to learn they’re not all in the same sorority, yet consistently think of each other as sisters. 

“Yeah, I mean, sisters are sisters right?” Jade says at one point, when Louis expresses confusion. “The feeling is there, isn’t it?”

The rest of the girls nod in agreement. “I need another drink,” Leigh-Anne said, getting up and starting to move towards the counter. Unfortunately, right then someone bumps into her harshly and spills their drink, a dark pink mixture, all over her front. The person in question immediately starts laughing, clearing intoxicated, while Leigh-Anne gasps from shock and looks down, horrified at the bright pink stains on her white shirt. 

The drink-spiller seems to not care, though, and is about to move on without question when Jesy stands up and grabs their wrist, yanking them back into place. Louis doesn’t recognize the guy, once he’s standing in front of them, no longer laughing. 

“You’re really just going to walk away?” Jesy questions. She looks at him expectantly, but the guy looks totally lost.

“Apologize to her,” Perrie says. 

The guy’s words are a fumbling mess, an awkward apology spilling out while Leigh-Anne continues to look disgusted over her wet shirt. When Jesy deems it appropriate, though, she nods and lets go of his wrist, gently guiding Leigh-Anne to the back, likely going into the bathroom to wash her shirt with her. At the last second, Louis calls them back and offers for Jesy to be able to go into his room and get Leigh-Anne a new, clean shirt if she needs one.

Jesy smiles in thanks and leaves with Leigh-Anne in tow, and so Louis turns back to Perrie and Jade, who look resigned to the events of the night.

Louis feels a tap on his shoulder, and then Zayn is plopping down next to him. He expects it to be a bit uncomfortable, what with Perrie right there, but neither seem disgruntled at the appearance of their ex. Zayn gives her a small nod, and Perrie waves back before engaging in conversation with Jade again.

“Everything alright?” Zayn says, nudging Louis’ shoulder with his own. Louis’ drink sloshes in his cup from the movement, but nothing spills out.

“Yeah, everything is good,” Louis responds. “Why?”

Shrugging, Zayn takes a sip from his drink, a bottle of beer. “I saw that guy spill something on Leigh-Anne, and then it looked a little tense.”

“It’s all sorted, Jesy is with her now,” Louis says. 

“Good,” Zayn hums. “I don’t need anything bad happening tonight.”

Louis scoffs. “You don’t need anything bad happening? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just want you to have a good night. No drama or anything,” Zayn says absentmindedly. 

Narrow his eyes, Louis says, “Niall said the same thing. Really wanted me to enjoy _my_ party.”

“Well, yeah,” Zayn says nonchalantly. “It’s for your birthday, and we invited people for you, and we want you to have a good time. Is that so weird?”

“Just seems like my birthday was an excuse to have a party,” Louis said, shrugging. 

Zayn looks at him quizzically. Louis doesn’t really know what about, though, since he’s not confused by much himself. Zayn says, “Man, we want you to have a good birthday party because we can’t actually be with you when you turn twenty-two. We do actually want you to have a good birthday.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Louis says, suddenly insecure.

“Of course it’s a big deal!” Zayn says. “You’re our brother.”

That’s the second time someone has called him that tonight. First Niall, now Zayn. _Brother_. What was with that word?

With startling clarity, Louis realizes he’s spent this whole semester wondering about brotherhood without realizing it was right in front of him this whole time. He thought he was some second-tier person in Niall and Zayn’s lives, just below the elusive rank of _brother_ , but no. That was never the case. He gets it, all of a sudden.

Brothers. That’s Niall and Zayn to him. It was like Jade had said earlier. _The feeling is there, isn’t it?_ And it was. They want to celebrate him. They want him to have a good night.

Louis visibly softens. “Thanks, Zayn.”

Zayn nods, as if not in thanks but rather to affirm that _Of course he would do this. Of course_ he would do this for his brother. And of course, Niall and Zayn are his brothers just the same.

Eventually Zayn flits off, and Louis is left floating again. As Louis drifts towards the kitchen counter, considering getting a new drink, it’s Harry who finally shows up by his side, looking gleeful but not drunk.

“Louis!” He exclaims, coming to a stop. Instantly, it’s like the entirety of Louis’ being relaxes at the sight of him. He’s dressed in predictable party attire for him, tight jeans and a button up black shirt, buttons undone just a bit more than anyone else would. Louis has to resist every urge in him to not gaze longingly at the tan skin of his chest, or question why his skin still looks so tan just as winter is arriving. But it looks so smooth, so inviting, Louis could almost just reach a hand up and brush his fingers against Harry’s skin…

Louis shakes his head, and focuses his eyes on Harry’s face. He’s smiling, and his hair is loose and curling around his ears and at the nape of his neck. Louis is overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, but he, once again, resists this temptation. 

“Hi, Haz,” he says softly, smiling back at him. 

“I’ve wanted to see you all night,” Harry says.

Louis’ heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. “Really?

“Yeah,” Harry affirms. “But, I don’t know, you looked busy, and I didn’t want to be, like… clingy.”

“You’d never be too clingy,” Louis says earnestly. 

“So I can be a little bit clingy now?” Harry looks so small and hopeful, like a child.

Louis smiles, “Totally.”

Someone bumps into Louis, causing him to step forward right into Harry’s space. “Excuse me,” the stranger says, and Louis realizes he and Harry are standing right in front of the drinks, and that people might want to be able to access those without having to go through the pair. 

Thinking quickly, Louis grabs one of Harry’s arms, being sure not to hold it too hard but relishing the warmth of his skin, and takes him further back towards the hallway, where less people are congregated. 

Louis leans gently against a wall, holding his drink carefully, while Harry stands in front of him, just close enough that they’re in each other’s personal space. 

“What are you drinking?” Harry asks.

“I have no idea,” Louis says. “Niall made it, which probably means I’m being slowly poisoned.”

This leads to Harry taking a sip of the drink, “So we die together,” while Louis laughs at him, hopelessly endeared. 

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Louis asks him, once he realizes Harry isn’t holding anything and that he still seems perfectly sober.

Shrugging, Harry responds, “I told you. I wanted to see you tonight.”

Louis furrows his brows. “That doesn’t mean you can’t drink.”

“But I don’t want to drink,” Harry explains. “It’s your birthday. I just want to see you.”

“Harry, _I’m_ drinking, and it’s not actually my birthday yet,” Louis says. 

Harry appears to ponder this for a second. “Well, we can celebrate something else.”

“Like what?”

This causes Harry to stand in silence for a few more beats. “Me, meeting you.” 

Louis smiles widely. Harry raises one of his hands to rest it against the wall by Louis’ head, grinning back at him.

“So long as I can celebrate the same thing,” Louis says. 

The night wears on, and yet Louis and Harry never stop talking. Perhaps the rest of the world can see it, perhaps not, but no one interrupts them for more than a few seconds to say a cursory “ _Happy Birthday,_ ” or “ _Hey, man!_ ”

Louis almost forgets there’s a party going on around them, and as the hours tick by people begin to slowly shuffle out of the apartment and into the dark of night. Soon the living area is nearly empty, and Liam comes up to them to let them know he’s thinking of leaving.

“You wanna go? Liam asks of Harry, who shakes his head vigorously. 

“I’ll walk home later,” he says. Louis flusters at his words, even though they’re completely innocent. Just the idea that Harry is delaying leaving, even as his closest friend goes, all because he wants to spend more time with Louis? It’s almost too much to think about now, and so Louis leaves it in his mind, content to have Harry around for longer. 

And so Liam leaves, and then Perrie stops by to let him know that she and the girls are leaving too, and so he gives her a tight hug and they promise to talk soon.

Long ago, Louis lost sight of Zayn, so he assumes Zayn has made his own exit. Niall and Oli work to get any stragglers out the door, assigning sober people to walk drunk people home, reminding people to send Louis money for drinks if they haven’t already, even though Louis is sure they’ve more than made up the initial costs. 

He feels a bit guilty as Oli starts putting stuff into cupboards and into the refrigerator, and as Niall moves furniture back around and collects trash and abandoned drinks. Not guilty enough to help, though, because he still has Harry by his side.

“You don’t have to stay, you know?” Louis says. “We’re just cleaning up now.” 

“I want to stay,” Harry replies. “I’ll do anything you want me to. Give me a job.”

The phrase _I’ll do anything you want me to_ absolutely does not do something to Louis’ brain. 

“I’m not making you clean up after us,” Louis says. “Besides, you have to be tired. It’s what”— he pulls his phone out from his back pocket to check the time—”almost two in the morning?”

“I don’t care,” Harry says, though Louis can tell he’s stifling a yawn. 

“You should. You need sleep,” Louis tells him. In truth, he’d rather have any option that kept Harry around longer, but he feels guilty making him clean, and he doesn’t have many ideas besides that one as to how to accomplish his mission. 

“It’s cold out,” Harry says. “I don’t wanna walk home just yet.”

“It’s only gonna get colder, Haz,” Louis says. He still hasn’t moved from where he is against the wall, made no move to even start helping Niall and Oli clean up. He’s tangentially aware that his roommates are right nearby, flitting in and out of the kitchen space as they need to. Even so, there really is no divide between their kitchen and their living area, so no matter where they are, they might as well be right next to Louis and Harry.

He’s careful to keep his voice low enough that it isn’t easy for Niall or Oli to eavesdrop, if they so choose. 

“Not if I don’t leave until morning,” Harry says. 

Louis’ breath hitches, barely. Of course, Harry probably means nothing by this statement, except Louis is hit with the need for Harry to stay the night, in any capacity. He remembers that last time he spent the night with Harry, and hopes this time they can improve on it.

“We have a spare bedroom, if you want to sleep here,” Louis offers. He finally moves, causing Harry to back up as well, and places his drink on the nearest surface. He then leads Harry down the back hallway to where the empty room is. When he opens the door, he realizes an obvious problem. “We… we have no spare sheets, though.”

It’s just a plain, uncovered mattress. Not a very comfortable sleeping arrangement. 

Harry shifts back and forth on his feet, and when Louis glances at him out of the corner of his eye, he’s biting his bottom lip nervously. 

“That’s fine,” Harry says, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. “I can just walk home after all.”

“Wait, no—” Louis rushes to say. “You could just stay with me?”

Harry visibly brightens at that, the line of his shoulders sagging as he releases some tension. 

“Okay,” he agrees readily. 

Louis smiles. They’re quiet for the next few moments as they make their way to Louis’ room and flick on the lights. This is the first time Harry has ever seen his room, Louis realizes. He surveys it like it’s a new view to him, in attempts to guess what Harry might be seeing. 

He has a small pile of clothes on a chair in the corner, but altogether the room isn’t messy. His bed is pushed up into the corner, unmade but sheets not strewn everywhere. His walls are a bit bare, he’ll admit, but hopefully poor decorating skills aren’t a turn-off for Harry. He has a wide set of windows along the back wall, and the windows are slightly open even though the blinds are down, so the room has a bit of chill to it. 

He glances at Harry. He looks like he’s done the same as Louis in terms of assessing his room. 

“It’s nice in here,” Harry finally says, and Louis breathes a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. 

“I try,” he says easily, hoping for lightness in his voice. “Do you need clothes to wear to sleep?”

Harry nods, and so Louis digs through his closet and drawers to find some things he thinks will fit Harry. They aren’t too different in size, he surmises, but he tries to find an old shirt that’s a bit looser around the shoulders, as well as pants that, at the very least, aren’t short on Louis himself, so they’ll likely fit Harry as well.

When he hands them off, Harry leaves to change in the bathroom, and so Louis makes quick work of stripping his own clothes off and pulling on loose joggers and a plain shirt. 

By the time Harry comes back, Louis is already sitting in his bed, scrolling through his phone. 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Harry says as he climbs into the bed. This means Louis is trapped on the side of the bed where the wall is, his back leaning up against it with his legs crossed in front of him.

Harry follows suit, crossing his legs and sitting parallel to Louis, so both their knees gently touch, looking at him intently. Louis almost feels insecure under Harry’s burning gaze, but he reminds himself that it’s just Harry. He’s just a boy, a boy who Louis knows so well by now, and Louis has nothing to be scared of.

“Of course,” he says. “I’d never send you away.”

“Um,” Harry begins. “I have to confess something.”

Louis puts his phone down and focuses on Harry. He’s twiddling his fingers restlessly, looking unsure of what to do with them. Raising his gaze to Harry’s face, he looks shy, and he’s biting his lip so hard Louis’ afraid he’ll draw blood. 

“Hit me with it,” Louis says. He’s not expecting much, maybe because tonight has already exceeded his expectations of his birthday party. Perhaps Harry will confess he’s scared of the dark.

Harry breathes out a long, nervous breath, and that’s the split second Louis becomes a tad concerned.

“Haz?” Louis asks, taking Harry’s hands in his, steadying them. He relished the feeling of warm skin and worn callouses. 

“I really want to kiss you,” Harry says at last. 

Louis looks at him with disbelief. Of all the words he’d expected, those aren’t any of them. As he stares into Harry’s eyes, he sees the exact moment the gleam in them drops, his gaze turning downward, and that’s all Louis needs to see before he moves. He surges forward, messily connecting their lips.

Instantly, Louis knows it was the right choice. Their hands stay connected, Louis not letting go of them, just squeezing tighter. Harry falls right into him, pushing forward simply through their connected lips. It’s still a gentle, close-mouthed kiss, so clearly a first one, but Louis wouldn’t have it any other way. Harry is so soft, so warm, and when Louis breathes in he feels intoxicated. Utterly captivated.

Too soon, Harry pulls back.

“Like that?” Louis murmurs, still just inches from Harry’s lips. 

This time, when Harry bites his lips, Louis has an idea of what it would feel like to be the one to do that. 

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Just like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offers. Truthfully, Louis doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t know what he would say, doesn’t know how to put everything he’s felt and thought for months now into words. Harry is beyond words. 

“I want to sleep,” Harry says, to Louis’ relief. Louis laughs lightly, and agrees with him.

Pressing one more fleeting kiss to Harry’s lips Louis maneuvers until he’s on his side, Harry mirroring him. 

Even though Harry had said he wants to sleep, Louis feels wide awake. Both of them lay there, Harry in Louis’ clothes. Harry looks so good in his clothes, Louis thinks. Something about it says _mine, mine, mine_. 

Harry lies next to him in his bed, and they’re facing each other. Louis, on a whim, lifts his hand and brushes Harry’s cheek, letting his thumb trail over Harry’s lips. It’s too intimate, too much. He can hear Harry’s breath catch, and they’re only inches from each other.

In a swift movement, Harry swings his leg over Louis’ body so he’s straddling him, looking down on him with those burning green eyes. Louis is in love with the feeling of Harry on him, his weight, his body, just on top of him. It feels so right. He raises his hands to grip Harry’s waist, somehow familiar even though it shouldn’t be. It takes only a second, to look each other in the eye and come to some kind of cosmic consensus. Harry leans down and Louis moves up, their mouths meeting in a bruising kiss. 

His lips are soft, but there’s nothing sweet about this. It’s so obviously different from their first kiss, but they still have no knowledge of each other like this. Yet, they don’t go easy. Louis can feel the longing and hunger in the way Harry presses down, their chests right up against each other as Harry nips at his lower lip.

Louis groans. “Harry.” He keeps kissing though, neither of them too fond of backing off. “Haz,” he says again.

Harry pulls back quickly. “What? Are you okay?” His hair is mussed up, his lips a little pinker than before.

Just for that, Louis gives him a quick kiss, pulling away before it gets heated again. “I’m okay. I just need you to know I really like you.” 

Harry grins widely. “I really like you, too, Louis. _So_ much, you don’t even know,” he breathes. 

Louis smiles right back at him, making the decision to wrap his arm around Harry’s body and flip them over so Harry is below him. Harry lands on his back with a huff, and Louis bends back down to kiss him again. Again and again and again. They melt into each other, Harry’s hands coming up to wrap around Louis’ shoulders, and Louis finding a position with his legs on either side of Harry, his hands caressing his torso, still covered by his shirt. Louis’ shirt, _on_ Harry. He can feel the warmth of Harry’s skin through the thin fabric. Harry’s mouth slips open, letting Louis in, letting him swipe his tongue with Harry’s, letting Louis taste Harry like he’s dreamed of for so long. He almost tastes like chapstick, but Louis can also taste the remains of Louis’ drink, sick and sour. 

Harry groans, loudly, into Louis’ mouth, and he can feel the vibrations through his whole body. Louis pulls their lips apart, as much as it pains him to do so, and moves on to pressing urgent kisses against Harry’s neck, peppering kisses along his neck all the way to his jaw, and along that line towards his ear. When he finds the soft skin right where Harry’s jaw meets his ear, he begins sucking a bruise, nipping at the skin. Harry’s hands move down to his waist, gripping his skin where Louis’ shirt rides up, rubbing his thumbs back and forth. When Louis bites his skin a little too harshly, Harry moans breathily, and pulls Louis ever-closer to him, their bodies meeting. Louis might find it awkward that Harry now definitely knows just _how_ much Louis wants him, but Harry seems to be on the same page as him, so instead Louis groans and continues his ministrations. 

Soon he has a healthy collection of bruises all along Harry's neck, and Harry is panting out small whines. Louis prays that tonight his walls are thicker than he knows them to be. 

When Louis kisses Harry again, Harry whispers, “I meant it when I said I wanted to sleep,” against his lips. 

“Wanted, past tense,” Louis says, putting a few more centimeters of space between them.

“Sleep.” Harry kisses him once more. “Tomorrow we can talk.”

Louis can work with talking tomorrow. He knows he’s going to have trouble getting to sleep, what with how ridiculously turned on he is, but he settles in anyway, lying on his side. Quickly, Harry is settling in as well, tucking himself beneath Louis’ chin, arm coming to wrap around his waist gently. Louis puts his own arm around Harry’s shoulder, twining his fingers through his soft curls. With his free hand, he tangles his fingers with Harry’s, pulling the back of Harry’s hand to his chest.

Within minutes, Harry’s breathing evens out, and Louis can tell he’s asleep. Louis lies awake for what feels like hours, but could be mere minutes, after that. As much as sleep eventually tugs at him, he wants just one more second to feel Harry’s body next to his, and the second after that one. And the next, and the next. 

**

When Harry blinks sleepily awake the next morning, he knows he’s not in his own bed. If the fact that he’s curled on Louis’ chest, only their shirts separating their skin, didn’t give it away, the silence would.

Normally, waking up at the DeOM house means noise. Someone’s cooking, someone is playing music, people are talking and shouting. The only time it’s silent might be the morning after a party, when almost everyone prefers to sleep in and keep the volume down. Harry loves it, though, all the noise. Every second of the day, he sees and hears the community he signed up to be a part of. 

So the silence is immediately noticeable, and honestly a little unsettling for him. He doesn’t want to move in case it wakes Louis, but he reaches around blindly on the bed until he feels a phone, and flicks it on to see that it’s barely seven. It’s also Louis’ phone, his lock screen a photo that looks like it was snapped at a party. It’s Louis, Niall, and Zayn, all holding drinks and raising them, grinning cheekily at the camera. 

Harry puts the phone back and down and fully rests back onto Louis, using his fingers to trace shapes onto his rib cage. He can feel the moment Louis wakes up. His breathing stutters, and Harry looks up to see Louis’ eyes cracking open, staring at the ceiling. The arm that Louis has wrapped around Harry’s shoulder tightens. 

“Good morning, Lou,” Harry whispers into the quiet. Louis’ eyes look down at him, his eyes a bright blue that perfectly reflects contentment.

“Morning, Haz,” Louis whispers back, his eyes fluttering as he adjusts to the first rays of light streaming in from the window. 

Both of them are silent, unsure of what to say next. Harry doesn’t blame Louis for it, since he’s just as lost. He knows a lot of things, like how he feels about Louis, and how he feels about last night, but he doesn’t quite know where to go from here. They’d said they would talk in the morning and, well, here’s morning. In all its glory. 

“Are you hungry?” Louis says at last. 

Harry shakes his head, a bit awkwardly since he refuses to lift it from Louis’ torso, but Louis gets the message regardless. 

“Wanna stay here,” Harry says. “With you.”

“Are we gonna talk?” Louis asks. 

Harry scoots off of Louis so he’s next to Louis rather than on him, turning his head towards Louis. He doesn’t want to talk while laying down, so he sits up and stretches his legs out, leaning against the wall at the head of the bed. Louis sits up as well, leaning against the other wall, crossing his legs. Louis seems to be waiting for Harry himself to start the conversation. This is when he remembers he’s wearing Louis’ clothes, and he plays with the hem of the shirt as he gathers his thoughts. He’s never felt this before, but he likes the idea of possession that comes with wearing Louis’ clothes. Like he is inextricably intertwined with the boy beside him. 

“Okay, so,” Harry sighs. “I don’t know what last night meant to you, but when I said I like you, I meant it.”

Louis hums. “I meant it, too.”

Harry looks at Louis from beneath his eyelashes. He looks sincere, which makes his next words come out just a bit easier. “And I don’t want to be just some guy.”

“What do you mean? Louis says, cocking his head.

“Well,” Harry starts. “Like, at that party, months ago. It was right after we met. And Nick was there.” Harry remembers Nick. He’d never given the guy much thought, until Louis had revealed Nick was a former hookup of his. Since then, it's all he thinks about when he sees Nick around campus. “You— I mean, you didn’t want him to see you, at all. No eye contact, nothing. And that’s cool, but it’s not me.”

“I know,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s hands with one of his own, the other reaching out and gripping his thigh gently. 

“I don’t want to be that guy to you,” Harry continues. “I don’t want to hook up with you— Well, I don’t want to _just_ hook up with you.” Harry blushes. “I don’t want to hook up with you and then never speak again. I really, _really_ like you.”

Harry hesitates before looking up fully at Louis, who is staring at him so intently he feels like he’s the only person in the world. 

Louis opens his mouth to say something, reconsiders it, and then pulls him in by the shirt into a soft kiss, pulling back with a pleased sigh. 

“I like you, too. So much. I’m crazy about you, Haz. I’m sorry you couldn’t see that,” Louis says. “You’re not— you’ve never been just some guy to me.”

He looks at Louis with big eyes. He feels small, like a child, and near-pathetic when he next speaks. “Really?” And it’s less the urge for Louis to confirm how he feels that drives him to say it, and more the desire to hear Louis say it again. 

Louis smiles widely though, like he can read Harry’s mind. “Really.”

Harry breathes out a sigh of relief. Now that that conversation is over, there’s still one more that he wants to have. 

“So… what are we?”

Louis laughs. “Well, we have finals week, and then winter break, but maybe in January you’d let me take you on a date?”

Harry nods furiously. “Yes, I want that.”

Louis looks elated, and he once again drags Harry forward into a kiss, taking his face in his hands and bringing them as close as they can to each other. To help in his goal, Harry moves from the awkward angle they’re in and situates himself in Louis’ lap, essentially, his legs on either side of Louis, his hands crawling up the sides of Louis’ body. 

There they kiss comfortably, Harry letting his hands wander under Louis’ shirt to reach at the soft skin of his hips. Louis grips his neck, sucking and biting at his lips in a way that makes him let out breathy moans. 

“I’d ask you to be my boyfriend,” Louis murmurs, “but I figure I need to take on a date first to do that.”

Harry’s heart flutters wildly, feeling that familiar swooping sensation in his stomach that he’s come to associate with Louis. He kisses him harder, trying to convey everything he’s feeling just through one touch of their lips. He whispers, “I’d still say yes.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, though, but Harry trusts in what he says. He’ll be Louis’ boyfriend eventually. They just need time. 

Eventually, Harry pulls back and says, “I’m hungry now.”

Laughing, Louis pecks him on the cheek one more time and pushes Harry off his lap. 

**

When they stumble out of his room and into the kitchen, Louis is surprised to see Niall up and cooking.

“You’re making breakfast?” Louis asks skeptically. Beside him, he hears Harry hum in agreement. Louis has never known Niall to be the early-morning type, or the cooking breakfast type. 

Niall nods, though, and says, “Eggs and pancakes, I think. I also made you tea, Louis.” Niall flips a pancake on the stove top and points to a mug on the counter. Weirdly enough, he makes no comment about Harry’s presence. 

Louis is surprised, but thanks him anyway. He’s holding Harry’s hand loosely, so he lets go in order to grab the mug with both hands. He tentatively takes a sip and finds it's been made perfectly. Another thing he hadn’t anticipated about Niall is that he clearly knows exactly how Louis likes his tea, and took the time to make it like that. 

“Harry, I made you tea, too,” Niall says, pointing to a second mug on the counter, right next to Louis’. “Didn’t know how you like it though, so you can do that bit yourself.”

Louis looks at Niall, astonished. “How did you know Harry was here?”

Niall shrugs. “I see everything.” 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, since Louis doubts it was subtle last night when Louis led Harry back towards the bedrooms, nor were they very cautious about noise, but he still cringes at the idea. So while Louis is horrified at the literal implications of that, he also realizes that Niall doesn’t see everything. He sees _Louis._

Not only does he see the things like Harry sleeping over in his bed last night, but he sees the little things, like how Louis makes his tea. It’s something so simple, and yet Louis is so touched by the small gesture. How had he spent so long wondering what people see when they look at Louis, what _Niall_ sees when he sizes Louis up, only to realize that it should never have been a question. 

Niall just sees Louis. All of him, with no questions or doubts. 

What a lovely thing to have in a friend, Louis thinks. 

Once Niall is done cooking, the trio eat their breakfast in silence. Louis wants to talk to Harry, and he knows Harry must be thinking the same thing, but neither wants to discuss their burgeoning relationship with Niall right by them. 

So instead they eat quietly, and Louis rests assured that he and Harry have all the time in the world. 

**

Months later, and Louis was right. Time made all the difference, and while he hadn’t asked Harry to be his boyfriend until after their first date, they hadn’t acted any other way since that fateful morning after his party. 

When they got back from winter break, January brought a bleak and shivering few weeks, and yet Louis swears he didn’t feel it at all. Too wrapped up in Harry. Their first date was at the coffee shop where Louis had initially met Harry, because when it came time to ask Harry on that first date, he couldn’t think of anything to say other than “Can I take you out for coffee?” and, well, Niall had gotten him another gift card after all. And it made sense, in a way, since they’d made a routine of getting coffee together over the course of last semester, that coffee would officially start their relationship, despite Louis’ stubborn preference for tea. 

January went much in the same fashion, with Louis and Harry indulging in any winter activity they could find, from ice skating to hiking in the snow to visiting a Christmas tree farm. And, of course, Louis’ party habits had changed drastically. Now, at parties, he preferred to have Harry right by his side at all times, making stupid drink concoctions that they then try and foist onto Niall or someone else. And Harry journeys down from his room most of the time, content to bury his face into Louis’ side and follow along with his antics.

The development Louis least expected was on the first Sunday of the new semester, when he was getting a shovel out of the back shed when he heard the telltale sound of the garden gate latching. When he turned, he saw Harry ambling over to him, wearing far too many layers of sweaters, with a beanie pulled low on head and a scarf covering his mouth. 

“What are you doing here?” Louis asked. 

Through his many layers, Harry shrugged. “Wanted to garden with you.”

“You don’t have any reason to be here anymore. You got your service hours, you got me,” Louis listed off.

He couldn’t see Harry grin since his scarf was in the way, but he could see the crinkles by his eyes. “I still want to spend time with you. Whenever, wherever.”

Louis laughed at him, but handed him a shovel. 

It amazed Louis, and still amazes him, what Harry had said that day. It was so small, but every time Louis remembers the cold January mornings where Harry had braved the numbing weather just to garden with him, he swears he falls for Harry all over again. 

It’s what is on his mind now, as the weather warms up and light streams in through Harry’s window. No longer are they awkwardly sleeping in the same bed, not like they had last semester. Instead, Louis is on his back, head tilted gently down as he combs his fingers though Harry’s hair. Harry is tucked into his side, face hidden in the crook of his neck, still dead asleep. 

As he trails his fingers up and down Harry’s back, feeling every notch in his spine and ever bump on his skin, he can tell when Harry wakes up, the way his rib cage expands and he breathes heavily into Louis’ shoulder. 

“Morning, Haz,” Louis whispers. 

Harry hums, sending vibrations into Louis’ body, and snuggles ever closer to Louis. “Happy anniversary.” 

Louis furrows his brows, and thinks of the date. It’s mid-April, which means probably exactly three months ago, Louis had asked Harry to be his boyfriend. 

Three months is as good as any other milestone to celebrate. 

“Mhm,” Louis says. “Three months is a long time. We deserve a treat.”

He hears, as well as feels, Harry giggle. “We deserve to sleep in. Why do our bodies hate us?”

“Early morning classes. We can’t escape the routine.” This semester was particularly grueling for Louis, since he has class at eight in the morning several times a week, and dreads getting out of bed so early. When he does manage to get up though, he inevitably wakes Harry up too, by proxy, and so both of them have developed a hideous routine of getting up early, even on a Friday morning where neither of them have morning classes. 

Harry groans, shifting so that Louis can see his face now, smiling before stretching up to kiss Louis. He instantly reciprocates, clawing at Harry until he moves further up and Louis is better able to grab at his back, pulling them flush together. One of Harry’s legs slots easily between Louis’ own, and Harry kisses him eagerly and sloppily, clearly still waking up. 

Harry rucks up Louis’ shirt until Louis gets the message, struggling to get it off quick enough for Harry’s tastes. Once it's off, Harry grips Louis’ arms and bends back down.

When Harry swipes his tongue across Louis’ lower lip, nipping at his skin, Louis moans into his mouth. Harry continues to lazily kiss him, Louis happy to stay here forever if Harry wanted. He threads a hand through Harry’s hair, relishing how long it’s getting, twisting his fingers among his curls and pulling, gently at first, but harder when Harry lets out a moan, eyes fluttering. 

“Baby,” Louis breathes. “You’re beautiful.”

Harry attacks his neck with vigor, seemingly determined to drive him insane. He sucks bruise after bruise into his skin, biting up and down the area.

“Not like you, though,” Harry says, his voice croaky from just having woken up.

Louis uses his hand on the back of Harry’s head to make him look back at Louis’ face. Harry’s eyes go wide with confusion, and perhaps slight disappointment that he’s been stopped mid-action. 

“I’m so happy,” Louis says, looking him straight in the eyes, searching for reactions. “You know that, right?”

Harry gives him a goofy smile, nodding several times. “I know that.”

“Happy three months,” Louis tells him, pecking him once before letting Harry go back to his task. Harry seems to get bored soon after, though, and comes back to Louis’ mouth, kissing him with urgency. Despite just waking up, Louis somehow still loves the taste of Harry, morning breath and all. Everything about him is soft; he smells like laundry detergent and feels like silk and kisses Louis like he’s the only person in the world. 

“I want you,” Harry says, kissing his way down Louis’ body. “Want you, always.”

“It’s early,” Louis says. “Noise.”

Harry’s curls fall messily in his face, and Louis would be surprised if he could see clearly. As Harry’s hands reach Louis’ thighs and he kisses the soft skin there, he mutters, “I’ll be quiet, then.”

**

Maybe a pivotal moment in Louis’ relationship with Harry comes a few weeks before they enter finals week, when things are feeling just a bit more stressful. 

They’re in Louis’ apartment, Louis sitting on one edge of the couch with Harry pushed up against him, stretching over the rest of the couch. Louis is desperately trying to get through a book he needs to have finished by class tomorrow, and Harry is huffing about a source for his Music Theory final essay.

It looks like a quiet scene, though Louis is sure they’re both dying inside. Harry also has his music playing softly, which calms them both down slightly. Harry’s hair tickles Louis’ neck from the position they’re sitting in, but even that weirdly centers Louis as the words on the page swim in front of him. It’s a nice reminder that Harry is here with him, even as they’re in their own bubbles. 

Niall wanders out from his room, looking ready to leave for somewhere. As he slips on his shoes and puts on a jacket, he looks at them. 

“You guys are insane,” he comments, which makes Louis look up and glare at him, and Harry is pulled out of his train of thought, looking affronted. 

“Why?” Harry demands.

Niall laughs and shrugs. “You two, you’re just like… stuck like glue to each other. Can’t remember the last time I saw one of you without the other.”

And, well, that makes a lot of sense, Louis thinks. Even when they aren’t necessarily spending time with each other, like now, they’re with each other. Even as they study separately, silently. 

Niall leaves without another word, and Harry shifts a bit to look at Louis. “Are we really always together?”

Louis looks at him, so easily captivated by everything about him— the curve of his lips, the curiosity in his eyes, the arch of his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, baby, I think we kind of are.” He leans in to kiss Harry— soft and chaste. “It’s okay though. I like it.”

Harry smiles and turns back to his work. 

Louis has a bit of a harder time, though he can’t say he minds the mental distraction that Niall’s words provide. _Stuck like glue to each other_. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, far from it, actually, in Louis’ opinion. He loves Harry, and even if he hasn’t said the words yet, he knows Harry knows. The words don’t scare him, and he’s eager for the right moment to come along so he can tell him _I love you, Haz_. 

It’s almost unthinkable, how unpredictable the last year has been. If anyone had asked Louis a year ago, he never would have said this is how he would be ending his third year at this university. With Harry, his boyfriend. The man he loves. 

He recalls not long ago when he could never have imagined himself sticking with someone. Truly, no one ever caught his attention and kept it like Harry does. No one ever caught his heart and kept it like Harry does. Maybe once upon a time Louis would have said that would never change. 

But _oh_ how glad he is that things have changed. That Louis himself has changed. Because this is life now, what he has Harry, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! please kudos and comment if it suits you. you can find me on tumblr [here!](https://cloudslou.tumblr.com/) !!! [here](https://cloudslou.tumblr.com/post/639225747025854464/plant-new-seeds-hl-complete-44k-by-glitterhaz) is the post for this fic.


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